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'“bo' 







SONS OF ELI 


BOOKS BY RALPH D. PAINE 

PUBLISHED BY CHARLES SCRIBNER’S SONS 


SONS OF ELI. Illustrated, umo . . net $1.50 

THE TWISTED SKEIN. Illustrated, umo 

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Twice, thrice, with no intervals for signals . . . they slammed 
through and over poor Bob. 


SONS OF ELI 


BY 

RALPH PAINE 

•I 


ILLUSTRATED 


NEW YORK 

CHARLES SCRIBNER’S SONS 

1917 



Copyright, 1905, 1916, 1917, by 
CHARLES SCRIBNER’S SONS 


Published September, 1917 


Copyright, 1916, by STREET & SMITH 


SEP 19 1317 




©CU473561 


t 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 

A Victory Unforeseen 3 

Follow the Ball 53 

“ Sleepy ” Jordan 84 

The Letter of the Law 109 

Getting His Goat 140 

The Indian 168 

The Vengeance of Antonio 199 

A Transaction with Shylock 227 

His Code of Honor 261 


( 




ILLUSTRATIONS 

Twice, thrice, with no intervals for signals . . . they slammed 

through and over poor Bob Frontispiece y 

FACING 

PAGE 

Hastings heard the Stroke growl to Number Seven: “What’s 

the matter with you loafers back there?” 4 v 

This spectacular invasion was accepted as a challenge ... 158 

They were pried apart before his neck was broken 280 


I 





















/ 

























































SONS OF ELI 


* 





A VICTORY UNFORESEEN* 


“ That's enough for to-night. Turn around and go 
home. You are a disgrace to Yale, all of you, and 
you’re the worst of a bad lot, Number Five.” 

The Head Coach roared his convictions through a 
megaphone from the bow of the panting launch, and 
the coxswain caught up the words and flung them in 
piping echoes at the heads of the eight sullen oarsmen 
facing him. The grind of the slides and the tearing 
swash of blades abruptly ceased as the slim shell trailed 
with dying headway to the skitter of the resting oars. 
Backs burned dull red by the sun of long June days 
drooped in relaxation that was not all weariness. John 
Hastings, at Number Five, remembered when to slip 
along the shore, heading homeward in the twilight 
after pulling four miles over the New London course, 
was the keenest joy he had ever known. Now, with 
the Harvard race less than a week away, the daily toil 
was a nightmare of ineffective striving. The pulsat- 
ing shell hesitated between strokes, it rolled without 
visible cause, and seemed sentiently to realize that the 
crew was rowing as eight men, not as one. 

The boat circled wide and the men swept it listlessly 
toward the lights of the Quarters at Gales Ferry. 
They had just undergone the severest ordeal in all 
athletic training in their race against the stop-watch, 

* A story of twenty years ago. 

3 


SONS OF ELI 


yet if the work had been good they would have fin- 
ished vibrant as steel springs, spurting in this welcome 
home-stretch like the sweep of a hawk. Squatted on 
the boat-house float a little later, dousing pails of 
water over his sweating shoulders, Hastings heard the 
Stroke growl to Number Seven: 

“What’s the matter with you loafers back there?” 

“I’m not behind,” retorted Seven, with hair-trigger 
irritability. “ The trouble is in the middle of the boat. 
Hastings is too heavy to row in form this year, and 
he seems to have gone to pieces in the last month. 
That’s where the worst break in the swing comes. 
Did you hear the Old Man threaten to take him out 
of the boat and get him a job as a farm-hand?” 

The culprit wearily picked himself up, and dressed 
in a dark comer of the boat-house, shunning conver- 
sation. After the training-table supper, the Head 
Coach and his younger staff of graduate experts who 
had flocked back to help stem the adverse tide, sum- 
moned the crew into the parlor of the homely old 
farmhouse. The Nestor of Yale rowing, who for 
twenty years had taught Yale crews how to win, leaned 
against the battered piano and looked at the ruddy 
and wholesome young faces around him. It might 
have been a council about to weigh matters of life and 
death, so grave was the troubled aspect of the waiting 
group, so stern the set of their leader’s bulldog jaw. 

To-night he had something of their nervous uncer- 
tainty, and it showed in the way his strong fingers 
played with the fringe of the faded piano cover. Pick- 
4 



Hastings heard the Stroke growl to Number Seven: “ What’s 
the matter with you loafers back there?” 



















































A VICTORY UNFORESEEN 


ing up the well-worn log-book in which was recorded 
year by year the daily work of Yale crews from Janu- 
ary to July, he turned the leaves until a text was 
found. Then, slamming the book on the piano with 
a vigor that made the aged wires complain, he said: 

“The work has been discouraging ever since you 
came to New London, but to-day it was so bad that 
it made me sick. I never saw faster conditions on 
this course, and yet you clawed your way up-river in 
twenty-two minutes and ten seconds. That is nearly 
a quarter of a mile slower than last year’s crew. Do 
you know what this means? You are strong enough; 
you have had plenty of coaching, and I intend to work 
the very souls out of you to-morrow. If there is no 
improvement — well, you had better jump overboard 
and drown yourselves after the race than go back to 
New Haven. No man’s place is safe in this crew, even 
if the race is only four days off. This means you, 
Number Five.” 

There were no songs around the piano, as was the 
custom in happier evenings, nor did the Head Coach 
pound the tinkling yellow keys and lead the chorus of 
“Jolly Boating Weather,” as he had done so many 
nights of so many years when the work had been 
satisfactory. At nine o’clock the captain called out 
gruffly: 

“All out for the walk, fellows.” 

The squad filed through the gate into the darkness 
of the country lane for the end of the day’s routine, 
with John Hastings trailing in rear of the procession. 

5 


SONS OF ELI 


He had become fond of this nightly ramble, feeling on 
terms of intimacy with every stone wall, low-roofed 
farmhouse, and fragrant orchard, and courting the 
smell of the lush June countryside as the rarest of 
sleeping potions. But to-night he strode with head 
down, turning over and over in his mind the haunting 
list of his sins as an oarsman. Always with him of 
late, they had been driven home anew by the events 
of recent hours. He looked up at the quiet sea of 
little stars, and his self-reproach unconsciously changed 
to the form of a prayer: 

“ O Lord, help me to get my power on, and to keep 
my slide under me. I never worked half so hard, but 
I know I am heavier and slower than I used to be. 
Help me to stay on the crew. I don’t ask it for my 
sake, but — but Mother’s coming to the race, and this 
is my third year on the crew, and she never saw a 
race, and if I’m kicked off now it will break her heart. 
It means so much to her, and I am all she has. And 
— and there’s Cynthia Wells — she’s coming, too. Oh, 
it means everything to me, everything.” 

Such a man was he in the glory of his superbly con- 
ditioned strength, such a boy in the narrow limits of 
his life’s horizon, bounded in this crisis by the Quar- 
ters, the boat-house, the crew, and the shining stretch 
of river ! 

The next morning sparkled with a cool breeze from 
the Sound, and its salty tang was a tonic after the 
sultry days that had tugged at the weights of all the 
men, except Hastings, until they were almost gaunt. 

6 


A VICTORY UNFORESEEN 


When the crew was boated for the forenoon practice, 
the exhortations of the Head Coach were even hopeful. 
But after Jie had sent them on the first stretch at full 
speed, even the blase old engineer of the launch could 
see that things were going wrong in the same old way. 
The emotions of the Head Coach were too large for 
words and with sinister patience he made them row 
another spurt. Before he could begin to speak, Hast- 
ings knew that there was still a break in the swing at 
Number Five, and the confirmation came in almost a 
tone of entreaty from the launch: 

“You are still behind, Number Five, while the rest 
of the crew is swinging better. Try, for Heaven’s 
sake, to get your shoulders on it, and swing them up 
to the perpendicular as if the devil were after you. 
Do you want seven other men to pull your hundred 
and ninety pounds of beef and muscle like so much 
freight in the boat? I have told you these things a 
thousand times, and you must hang on to them this 
time, or I can’t risk bothering with you any more. 
All ready, coxswain, steer for that red barn across 
the river.” 

“Forward all. G-e-t ready. R-o-w-w,” shrieked 
the coxswain. 

Within the next thirty strokes Hastings felt that 
he was rowing in no better form than before, although 
never had he been so grimly determined to row bet- 
ter. Stung to the soul by the taunt of the coach, he 
threw his splendid shoulders against the twelve-foot 
sweep, striving always to be a little ahead of Number 


SONS OF ELI 


Six, whose instant of catch was signalled by the tell- 
tale tightening of the crease in the back of his neck. 
The captain called: 

“Give her ten good ones, and look out for the 
stroke. It’s going up.” 

“O-n-e, T-w-o, Thr-e-e, F-o-u-r, F-i-v-e,” gasped the 
eight, in husky chorus to the cadence of the catch. 

“Sl-o-w down on your y-o-u-r slides,” yelled the 
bobbing coxswain. “You’re be-h-i-n-d, Number Five.” 

Hastings could have throttled the coxswain for this. 
He had heard it so often that it cut him on the raw. 
The Head Coach picked up the damnable refrain: 

“You are behind, Number Five.” 

Recalling how once, to fill an idle half-hour, he had 
enumerated sixty-four faults possible in rowing a sin- 
gle stroke, Hastings was sure that in this spurt he was 
committing all these and several as yet unrecorded. 
The futility of his flurried effort became maddening. 
Where was his strength going? 

The verdict befell as the launch steamed alongside, 
and a substitute, perched on the cabin roof, jumped 
to the deck at the beckoning of the Head Coach, who 
said, with a ring of sincere regret: 

“I am afraid I’ll have to try a change at Number 
Five, to see whether we can patch up that break. 
Get in there, Matthews. Better get out and take a 
rest, Hastings.” 

The cast-off crawled aboard the launch and went 
aft to the cockpit under the awnings where he could 
be alone. Holding himself bravely under the sympa- 
' 8 


A VICTORY UNFORESEEN 


thetic eyes of his comrades, he watched the substitute 
grip the oar, still warm from his own calloused hands. 
Nor did he yet realize what had befallen him, and felt 
vague relief that the struggle was done. At dinner he 
was cheerful and flippant, and the other oarsmen ad- 
mired his “sand.” 

The reality began to overtake him when he went to 
his room under the eaves and anxiously asked the 
Stroke: 

“Well, how did it go with a new Number Five?” 

“A little better,” replied his roommate, with evi- 
dent reluctance. “The Old Man says he is going to 
keep Matthews in your seat for the race. It’s a hard 
thing to talk about, Jack. You know how broken up 
we all feel about it, don’t you? We know you tried 
your level best, and your extra weight this year made 
you slow, and you couldn’t help that. Heard from 
your folks lately?” 

Hastings was reminded of things he had feared to 
let rush into the foreground. He had been too pre- 
occupied to think of looking for mail down-stairs, and 
was started for the door when the Stroke halted him 
with: 

“Oh, I forgot to tell you I brought up a couple of 
letters for you. There they are, on the bureau.” 

Hastings recognized his mother’s handwriting on 
one envelope, that of Cynthia Wells on the other. He 
appeared to hesitate which of them to open first, and 
in this hour of trial his choice was swayed by an im- 
pulse as old as the world. 


9 


SONS OF ELI 


The letter which he preferred was dated on board 
the yacht Diana , off New Haven, and he read slowly 
to himself : 

Dear Old Jack: 

I am so happy to be almost at the scene of your victories, 
past and to come. And I think I have never seen you row. 
How foolish and inconsiderate of father to drag me abroad so 
early two seasons on end ! But I am bringing all the heaped- 
up enthusiasm of three years — think of that! I suppose you 
are as calm as blanc mange , while I am jabbering rowing at 
everybody in sight, and am getting really awfully clever about 
strokes and catches (are they so very catching?). Your class- 
mate, Dickie Munson, is on board, and has been coaching me 
up on the technical mysteries, and spinning many jolly yarns 
about you. I hear you are to be elected captain of next year’s 
crew, the very grandest honor at Yale. May I offer congratu- 
lations in advance? I do so want to see you, and will be one 
of the worshipping admirers of your prowess ! Of course you 
will be busy until after the race, and then you are to come 
down to the Diana as soon as ever you can. Don’t forget that 
I will have an eye on you all the way down the course. 

Yours as ever, 

Cynthia. 

Hastings tucked this letter in an inside pocket with 
reverent care, and without speaking sought next what 
his mother would say: 

My Dearest Boy: 

I have decided to come North by sea, and will sail on the 
Mohican to-morrow. The fare is considerably less than by rail, 
and as you have insisted upon paying the expenses of my won- 
derful trip, I want to save you all I can. The ship is due at 
New York late in the afternoon of the twenty-seventh, the day 
before the race, and I plan to take the earliest train to New 

io 


A VICTORY UNFORESEEN 


London, to reach there that night, if possible. I have the 
address of the boarding-house in which you have reserved the 
nice room for me, and you will not have to worry at all about 
having me met, as, of course, you will not be able to come 
down from the Quarters. It will be hard to bear, this being 
so near you on that last night, unable even to kiss you good 
night and God bless you. After the race you can come to 
my room, and we will go to New Haven on the special train 
with the crew. Of course you are going to win again, when 
your mother is coming all the way from the South to see her 
boy fight for old Yale. Oh, I want so much to see my big, 
handsome boy, and it will be music for me to hear the thousands 
cheering him. I received the ticket for the observation-train, 
in car fifteen, and I can find it at the station, as you directed 
me, so don’t have me on your mind for a moment. I pray for 
you each night, and may God bring me safe to you. 

Your loving and adoring 

Little Mother. 

“I don’t see how I can let her know,” observed 
Hastings with a long sigh. 

“ Which?” asked the Stroke, as he searched his 
comrade’s face with shrewd kindliness. 

“ I mean Mother, of course,” was the reply, followed 
by a sharp prick of conscience. “She is coming up 
by sea, she is on the way now. The other letter was 
from a — from a friend. She is to be here, too.” 

“You ought to meet her in New York — your mother, 
of course. She is first in your thoughts, I am sure,” 
advised the Stroke, with a perceptible shade of dis- 
belief. “Just let her see that you are sound and lusty, 
that’s what she will care most about. She will be 
sorry for your sake, not for her own.” 

ii 


SONS OF ELI 


Throwing himself across his cot, Hastings looked 
out of the nearest window, down the river to where 
the flag above the Harvard Quarters slashed the sky 
like a ribbon of flame. There were the enemy whom 
he had helped to defeat, and now it seemed an honor- 
able thing, greatly to be desired, even to row on a 
beaten crew. The tousled head went to the pillow, 
and he could no longer help pouring out his heart to 
his friend: 

“ Nothing can make it any worse than it is. I have 
worked every summer so far, and I was going to have 
a real vacation this year, the first since I have been in 
college. Now I can’t bear to think of any good times, 
with disgrace hanging over me. I am going to apply 
for my summer job again, but I’ve been working in 
the office of a Yale man, and I am afraid he won’t 
want to have a slob around him who was kicked off 
the crew four days before the race, will he ? Of course 
he won’t. The last month has been simply hell. 
Mother has been living in the thought of this trip just 
to see me row against Harvard, and — and, there is a 
girl — well, I am a big, whining, useless baby, that’s 
all.” 

The Stroke was an older man by five years, who 
had known a man’s stress and sorrows before his 
college days began. Had he been a man of readier 
speech, he would have tried somehow to make the sor- 
rowing boy realize that there were other worlds to 
conquer, wider and more inspiring fields in the years 
beyond. Yet there was something quite fine in this 


12 


A VICTORY UNFORESEEN 


absorption in the crew; it was what one ought to feel 
at twenty-one, and it might be better for him to fight 
it out alone. The Stroke was glad when the young- 
ster marched out of the room without more words. 
“I hope he stands the gaff,” thought the elder man. 

Hastings’s first impulse had been to flee the place, 
and he was still busy with the longing to be anywhere 
away from the sights and sounds that racked him be- 
cause they were so infinitely much to him. While he 
struggled with the decision, the eight began to make 
ready for the long afternoon practice. As the shell 
swung out of sight around the curve of the shore, 
Hastings had not believed it possible that any one 
could feel as lonely and neglected as he at that mo- 
ment. Just then he saw a University substitute stand- 
ing idly in the boat-house door, and he remembered 
that with one transferred to the eight, and another 
laid off with a cold, this youngster, Bates, was the sole 
survivor of the trio which had its own thankless duties 
and burdens. The intending fugitive made a choice 
then and there, as he slid down the bank, shouting: 

“Aren’t you going out to-day to keep tabs on the 
Red-Heads?” 

The solitary substitute ruefully shook his head: 

“No, I haven’t any one to man the pair-oar with 
me, and I’m no good in a single shell. And I ought 
to be over at the start right now, for the tip is out 
that Harvard is going to try the four miles on time, 
their last attempt. How am I going to catch their 
time, I want to know, with nobody to help me?” 

13 


SONS OF ELI 

Hastings laid hold of the bow of the pair-oared boat 
as he said : 

“Get hold of the other end of the tub, and we’ll 
put her in the water. I might as well be a substitute, 
too, if there is work for me to do. We’ll hold the 
watch on the Johnny Harvards in great shape.” 

The substitute glimpsed something of the sacrifice 
and struggle in Hastings’s offer to help him, but he 
could not know it all, because he was only a “sub.” 
The two were bending over their stretchers lacing the 
shoes, when the launch slipped past the float so quietly 
that the substitutes did not hear it. The Head Coach, 
however, standing on the forward deck, heard Has- 
tings say to his mate with an evident effort: 

“I came pretty near playing the baby act and run- 
ning away, but if I can help the Yale shell to go faster 
by being out of it, I am glad of it. That’s what I am 
rowing for, anyhow. And if I can be of any use as a 
substitute, why, that’s what I am here for, too. It is 
all for Yale, isn’t it?” 

The two in the pair-oar rowed across the river, 
landed a half-mile above the start of the four-mile 
course, and walked down the railroad-track. 

“We can’t do anything more than catch their time 
over the first mile,” observed the experienced Bates; 
“but that will give us a good line on the gait they 
are going.” Hastings meekly followed instructions to 
hurry to the hill opposite the first-mile flag, and be 
ready to wave his handkerchief when the Harvard 
crew should pass him. Bates, at the start with a 

14 


A VICTORY UNFORESEEN 


stop-watch, would snap the time at this signal. In 
dust and quivering heat, Hastings trudged along the 
ties, crept up the hill, and lay on his stomach under 
a tree, waiting the appearance of the Harvard crew. 
The tears could not be held back at thought of this 
humiliation, of the abysmal gap between this petty 
spying in ambush, and all the days in which he had 
swung by this first-mile flag in the University eight. 

There was much time for meditation, and while 
the first shock had wrecked his every hope, he began 
to patch the fabric of his dearest dream, until he was 
ready to believe that, even more clearly than his 
mother, Cynthia Wells would understand. She would 
see that he had tried to do his best, that the failure 
was blackened by nothing left undone, and that his 
great disappointment was of a piece with those troubles 
which knit closer the bonds of friendship. She would 
know that it was “all for Yale,” that winning the race 
was more important than anything else in the world, 
and he ached for the words of comfort and inspiration 
she would be so eager to offer. If friendship meant 
anything it meant help in such times as this. 


II 

On the day before the race Hastings’s occupation 
as a substitute was gone. The shadow of the morrow 
was over the Quarters, the atmosphere was funereal, 
and the strapping oarsmen were coddled like infants. 

15 


SONS OF ELI 


He had no part in the excitement and was free to 
meet his mother in New York that afternoon. The 
news he must bear her made him as nervous as if he 
were facing the tussle of the eights. After farewells 
with his other comrades he sought the Stroke, who 
grasped the hand of the sorrowful exile in a crushing 
grip. 

“Keep your nerve, Jack,” said he; “it will all come 
out in the wash. I know there’s a girl in it, and if 
she is the right sort, she will understand.” 

Hastings flushed at mention of the feminine factor, 
as he stammered: 

“Of course she will understand. She is that kind, 
all right. But I hope to Heaven I’ll never clap eyes 
on Gales Ferry again. Damn the place! Good-by. 
You’ve been a brick to me, and lots of comfort.” 

After he had gone, the Stroke looked up from his 
book for some time, while a tender smile softened his 
strong mouth. He had found a girl who could un- 
derstand, and he hoped the same good fortune for his 
friend. 

When the train passed through New Haven, Hast- 
ings wore a hang-dog air, fearing recognition. A run- 
away from New London the day before the race, his 
college town was the last place on earth in which he 
wished to be seen. As he neared New York he braced 
himself for the meeting with his mother, blindly fear- 
ing that she would be sorely disappointed in him. 
But the Mohican had been delayed by heavy weather 
along the coast and a smothering fog off Sandy Hook, 
16 


A VICTORY UNFORESEEN 


and could not be expected to reach her dock before 
seven o’clock of the following morning. 

Hastings felt as if he were cast away on a desert 
island. He yearned for his mother now, but she was 
somewhere out in the fog, and he was alone in New 
York, alone through the long night before the race 
with all its smarting, thrilling memories. Long after 
midnight, unable to coax drowsiness, his thoughts went 
homing back to the Quarters as he knew the place in 
these last hours. 

He could hear the call of the robin at daybreak in 
the tree by his window, the call that had aroused him 
to face the issues of two races when he was Number 
Five. He could picture the morning scenes, the hush 
of lawn and house, the enforced lounging on bed and 
sofa until the summons to be ready and dressed at the 
boat-house. 

Then he recalled the tense waiting on the float for 
the call of the whistle of the referee’s yacht, how the 
year before they had sat together in the sunshine and 
sung the chorus of “Jolly Boating Weather.” Since 
then it had become to him a battle song, a chant pro- 
foundly burdened with sentiment and solemnity. He 
could not hear it without feeling a lump in his breast. 
Now the shell would be launched, the men seating 
themselves with unusual care, and the coaches would 
shake hands from stroke to bow as the eight shoved 
off to row over to the start. ... He wiped the sweat 
from his face and came back to the stifling room of 
the hotel in New York and the sense of cruel isolation. 


17 


SONS OF ELI 


It was almost daylight when Hastings fell asleep, 
more tired than he knew, and when he awoke, a glance 
at his watch told him that he had overslept, and that 
it was nearly ten o’clock. The reply to a frantic 
telephone message was that all the passengers of the 
Mohican had gone ashore shortly after eight o’clock. 
His mother had gone to New London without him, 
and the express-train into which he dived was due to 
arrive at the scene of conflict barely in time to connect 
with the observation- train, if all conditions favored. 
Ten minutes behind time, he was running through the 
New London station, as the tail of the rearward ob- 
servation-cars was vanishing around a curve of the 
track yard, with cheering in its wake. 

Vainly pursuing on foot, Hastings came to a stand- 
still, stranded and alone, unable even to see the race, 
about to start five miles up the river. Walking down 
to the nearest wharf, he could see through the arches 
of the great railroad bridge the festooned yachts 
stretching in squadrons beyond, and between them 
only a little patch of silver lane where the crews would 
finish. 


Ill 

Shortly after noon, there stepped from the first 
“ special” into New London a fragile yet sprightly 
little woman in rustling black, alone but confident 
and unafraid. Her sweet face was made beautiful, 
even youthful, by the flush of excitement that tinted 
18 


A VICTORY UNFORESEEN 


her cheek so delicately beneath her silvered hair. 
Violets were pinned at her waist; in one hand she car- 
ried a flag of Yale blue, and in the other a decorative 
souvenir programme “ containing the pictures of all 
the crews.” Those near her in the car had watched 
with pleasure her vivacious interest in this booklet, 
but only the gentleman sitting next her had been taken 
into her confidence. Thirty years out of college, he 
was come from the Far West to his class reunion, and 
he, too, had a boy in Yale. Fortunately or other- 
wise, he had not kept in touch with the most recent 
news of the heroic figures of aquatics, and he knew 
not even the names of the crew of the year at Yale, 
so that she could enlighten his lamentable ignorance 
and right willingly. The “ souvenir” booklet had been 
printed a week before the race, too soon to record the 
change in the personnel of the Yale eight, and there 
was her boy’s picture filling a page, a massive young 
giant, most scantily clothed. The man from the West 
saw in the picture the mother’s brown eyes, and his 
heart was stirred, for he knew what it was to have 
an only son with his mother’s eyes. 

“Yes, John has been on the crew three years,” she 
confided, “and he will be the captain next year. I 
fairly live with him in spirit through the whole six 
months of the training season. He has had a very 
hard time this season, and lately his letters have been 
a little despondent. But I was never so delighted as 
when I learned from the head-lines of this morning’s 
newspapers that there has been a wonderful improve- 
19 


SONS OF ELI 


ment in the last week. Oh, I am excited, there is no 
use trying to deny it. It is almost too big an event 
for an old woman to survive.” 

The gray-haired stranger was comforting, and in 
the recesses of his memory found certain eulogies pro- 
nounced by his son regarding “ Jack Hastings, the big- 
gest man in his class, by Jove!” He insisted upon 
presenting two of his own classmates, and they bowed 
low in formal tribute to the “ mother of the next cap- 
tain of the crew.” 

The porter must leave her bag in the station, for 
she could not wait to go to the boarding-house when 
the air was full of tingling sights and sounds, all the 
excitement and flaunting color paying homage to the 
prowess of John Hastings. She found car fifteen, 
and sat in a beautiful dream, watching the holiday 
crowds fill the canopied lengths of open train. What 
a tale to tell when she should come again to the little 
colorless village in the South! It seemed impossible 
to drink it all in when the train began to move and in 
a few moments the amazing panorama of the Thames 
flashed into view. The eager eyes of the oarsman’s 
mother passed quickly over the gorgeous marine pic- 
tures, by the twisting length of the riotous train, up, 
up the river toward the quiet reaches, hoping to dis- 
cern the white house on the high bank and the big 
blue flag floating above the Quarters at Gales Ferry, 
a scene she knew from many descriptions. 

Soon the train had passed the yachts and the crowds 
massed on shore, and was opposite the red-roofed 


20 


A VICTORY UNFORESEEN 


home of the Harvard crew, whose crimson flag seemed 
to her to flaunt an insolent defiance. In near-by cars 
fluttered many Harvard flags, as the partisans from 
Cambridge chanted their slogan, inspired by the sight 
of their rowing camp across the river. She turned to 
look at the offenders with reproof in her manner. 
How could they be so misguided as to cheer for Har- 
vard? How dreadful it was to think that if Jack 
should be beaten, every one of them would be shout- 
ing even louder for joy. So she turned to gaze at the 
Yale Quarters, which she could see quite plainly, and 
the ugly brown boat-house squatted at the water’s 
edge. 

Her color came and went, and stayed in a brilliant 
patch when she saw, with a quick intake of breath, 
a yellow streak appear in front of the boat-house, 
and a number of Liliputians walking beside it. There 
seemed an eternity of delay before the wisp of a shell 
settled on the water, and nine figures climbed into it, 
while her heart was tripping it furiously. 

The thing became in motion, it was crawling across 
the river like a mechanical toy, with frequent pauses. 
Could this be The Crew, this fragile thing that moved 
over the water so slowly? A roar from the Harvard 
cars, and Mrs. Hastings turned to see a similar set 
of manikins swaying in as absurd a boat, heading out 
from “Red Top.” The mother looked at them only 
for an instant, because the Yale crew was crossing the 
river faster than she could realize, and soon it was 
half a mile above the start, paddling and drifting down 


21 


SONS OF ELI 


with the tide to get into position at its stake-boat. 
She wanted to call imploringly to the referee to bring 
the crew nearer, nearer, so that she might see the men, 
and count from the bow, to two, three, four, jive . 
Presently the shell swung round, parallel with the 
shore, and manoeuvred into position scarcely twenty 
yards from the observation-train hanging on the edge 
of the bank. 

At last the mother could look for Number Five. 
She counted with an eager and quivering finger. No, 
she must have made a mistake — that was not Jack at 
Number Five. They must have shifted him to another 
seat at the last moment. 

She flung away all method and searched the stern 
young faces from stroke to bow, from bow to stroke 
and back again, with yearning agony of intensity. She 
made bold to ask that the gentleman next her lend 
her his field-glasses for a moment, and focussed them 
on the shell, seeking in vain. The color had fled from 
her cheeks, and she sat back, white and silent, beyond 
speech. Around her raved the cheers of thousands, 
but the rocketing “rahs” for Yale sounded in her ears 
like some barbaric funeral chant. She had become old 
and weak far beyond her years. 

Her distress was unnoticed, and through a haze she 
saw the long shells leap from their leashes with incredi- 
ble suddenness in tearing cascades of foam. To the 
mourning mother the race was no more than an exhi- 
bition of automatons, as Harvard took the lead, and 
then the long Yale swing cut it down remorselessly, 


22 


A VICTORY UNFORESEEN 


foot by foot, until the gap was closed. She closed her 
eyes with a weary sigh, but rallied in a little while to 
try to make herself heard above the din. Yale was 
spurting gallantly, and those around her were oblivious 
to the quavering voice and its vital questions: 

“ Where is John Hastings? Number Five in the 
Yale crew? Where has he gone? What have they 
done with him ? Oh, tell me, tell me, tell me, please. 
I am his mother.” 

Yale hopes drooped as Harvard met the spurt, and 
in the lull a young man of a kindly face saw that she 
was ill, and leaned toward her to ask whether he could 
help. She was able to make him understand, and 
there was a huskiness in his voice that came not all 
from cheering, as he said : 

“Why, he’s all right, safe and sound as a dollar. 
He was taken out of the boat four or five days ago, 
and Matthews put in his place. No, I don’t know 
what the matter was. Too heavy, I fancy. I’m 
awfully sorry for you.” 

Where else should a boy flee in time of trouble than 
straight to his mother’s arms? Therefore the reason 
for his disappearance must be an alarming one. Then 
she felt a blaze of swift anger. It was an outrageous 
act of injustice, this deed of the Yale coaches. They 
were no better than conspirators thus to treat the best 
oarsman they had. It was not in a mother’s philos- 
ophy to grasp the view-point that what was best for 
Yale was best for all who fought for its glory. She 
vowed that a reckoning was due, and that her duty 
23 


SONS OF ELI 


was to see these coaches, and tell them the truth before 
she left the scene. And so, between wrath and tears, 
she saw the race end, saw the Yale crew sweep across 
the finish line, victors over Harvard by four lengths. 
This was what she had come to see, what she had lived 
in the hope of seeing through three long years, and now 
all had turned to ashes. 

Wearily she threaded a way through the thronging 
railroad station, found a cab, and gave the driver 
directions for reaching the boarding-house where a 
room awaited her. Her steps faltered as she toiled 
up the stairs, and all that gave her strength for the 
ascent was the flicker of hope that Jack might be 
there, or that some message had come from him. 
The room was empty, the table bare of letter or tele- 
gram. Carefully laying her bonnet and jacket on a 
chair, she looked at her face in a mirror, and it fright- 
ened her. Although she was eager to be out again 
in search of the way to Gales Ferry, rest was impera- 
tive, and she crossed over to the bed and lay down 
for a few moments until the dizzy faintness should 
pass. 


IV 

When John Hastings drifted down to the wharf 
nearest the railroad station, he laid an almost aimless 
course. While he could not see the race, he was 
drawn to the harbor into which flowed the river, the 
river by whose bank, five miles away, his comrades 
24 


A VICTORY UNFORESEEN 


were waiting for the summons, and perhaps even then 
singing “ Jolly Boating Weather,” as it was never 
sung at any other time. 

Through the maze of fragile shipping flying the flags 
of a dozen yacht clubs threaded a naphtha launch 
hurrying toward the bridge, the cockpit gay with 
white gowns and blue uniforms, and Yale colors flut- 
tering at bow and stern. The outcast bestowed no 
more than a scowling glance on the glittering, hum- 
ming pleasure craft, and was about to saunter shore- 
ward with a vague intent of hovering near the tele- 
graph office until the result of the race should be 
known, when the beckoning flurry of several hand- 
kerchiefs delayed his retreat. 

He walked to the end of the wharf in idlest curiosity, 
and the possibility staggered him only an instant be- 
fore he knew the fact. There was no mistaking the 
trim and jaunty figure in the bow for any one else 
than Cynthia Wells herself, as she flicked the steering- 
wheel over and ran the craft close to the string-piece, 
while the sailor in the stern held fast with a boat- 
hook. Her voice was lifted in peremptory command: 

“Scramble right down here this minute, and tum- 
ble aboard, Jack. We are awfully late already. 
Broke down on the way from the Diana . I don’t 
know what in the world you are doing here, but we 
can’t pass such an image of desolation. Hurry, please. 
I am the skipper to-day.” 

Jack would have vastly preferred to run away. 
This meeting was not at all what he had planned. 

25 


SONS OF ELI 


His misery loved company limited to one, and that 
one was hedged about by half a dozen laughing men 
and girls out for a holiday lark. He realized how sorry 
a figure of a man he was in this scene, but retreat 
meant cowardly flight, and there was the shadow of 
consolation in being near her. The grip of “ Dickie” 
Munson’s hand spelled understanding of the situation 
as the classmate said: 

“ We’re tickled to death to kidnap you this way, 
Jack. It’s a tough day for you, I know, but you 
must not miss the race. Get forward. There’s room 
by Miss Wells, and, of course, she is dying to see you.” 

When he found himself standing by the side of 
Cynthia, she was alert and absorbed in steering the 
launch with confident ease toward the swirling channel 
between the arches of the bridge, where small craft 
darted and drifted in common eagerness to find posi- 
tions along the last mile of the swarming course. 

The jolly wind whipped a straying lock of gold- 
shot hair across her eyes, and she brushed it aside 
with an impatient gesture. Her adorable face, warm 
with the glow of many summer days of sun and breeze, 
was set in serious alertness. Standing straight and 
tall, head thrown back and shoulders squared, the 
poise and look of her were as athletic as the bearing 
of the man at her side. With her mind wholly intent 
on the business in hand, she said crisply: 

“I have the right of way over that tub to port? 
Why doesn’t he head inshore? How is the tide 
through that middle arch, Jack ? You ought to know.” 

26 


A VICTORY UNFORESEEN 


He made brief reply. Unreasonably sensitive, he 
did not realize that her preoccupation was essential. 
At the least, he had expected she would speak some 
ready word of the sympathy he craved, because he 
stood for a tragedy in which she ought to show con- 
cern. Did she not know, could she not feel what this 
flight up the course meant to him, “Jack Hastings, 
Number Five”? But the girl at the wheel was too 
busy even to note the gloom in his face, as she shot 
the launch into a roomy berth near the three-and-a- 
half-mile flag, at the edge of the streak of open water. 
Then Cynthia turned to Hastings, held out a firm 
brown hand, and said with a happy smile: 

“ There, congratulate me. Could your coxswain, with 
his absurd little megaphone and all his importance, 
do a neater trick of steering than that? Now, you 
poor unfortunate boy, I am ready to hear all about 
your troubles. We heard yesterday, when we came 
ashore at New London, that you had been evicted, or 
had gone on strike, or something of the sort. Are 
you all broken up over it, and how did it happen? I 
am terribly disappointed, too. I came on to see you 
win a race. I don’t care a rap for the other heroes. 
Poor old Jack ! He looks as if he were chief mourner.” 

She patted his hand with a motherly air, and the 
mourner sighed heavily. Evidently she was making 
a gallant effort to hide her genuine emotion from the 
alien company. He tried to imitate her lightness of 
manner as he replied, with a laugh that was a trifle 
shaky: 


27 


SONS OF ELI 


“Yes, I have been out of the crew four days, Cyn- 
thia, and it seems four years. It was awfully good of 
you to pick me up, but I don’t know whether I am 
glad or not. Perhaps you ought to have left me 
alone.” 

“And why, Mister Knight of the Sorrowful Coun- 
tenance? Didn’t you want to see me?” 

There was archness in the query, even a trace of 
pretty coquetry in her air. Where was the kinship 
of souls, that wonderful symphony of understanding 
he had dreamed of as come true ? With a fierce onset 
of earnestness, he confided: 

“I wanted to see you more than any one else in the 
world. I wanted to see you more than I wanted to 
see my mother. She is looking for me now. She is 
on that train up yonder. It has been a pretty hard 
day for me, and I thought it would be for you.” 

She tried to make amends: 

“Why, of course, it is a dreadful disappointment for 
you, and for me, and for all your friends, Jack. But 
aren’t you glad it gave you the chance to be here? 
I certainly am. And I’m trying to make the best of 
it, and so must you. You are the same old Jack, you 
know, in the crew or out.” 

The first smile in days broke over his face. If he 
was the same old Jack to her, the rest of the world 
could go hang. He was about to tell her what he 
ached to reveal in a rush of pent-up desire, what the 
crew stood for, and how much of his life was bound 
up in it. She caught the kindling light in his face, 
28 


A VICTORY UNFORESEEN 


and before he spoke, she thought this light was all 
for her. That his interest should be absorbed in the 
crew, rather than in Miss Cynthia Wells, piqued her, 
even now, as he began: 

“I was afraid the crash was coming for some time. 
Nobody can know how I hoped and worried through 
those weeks, when I felt that I was slipping back. I 
did not write you about it, because I could not believe 
there was any serious danger of my being thrown out 
at the last moment, and I knew it would harrow you 

to share this worry with me. I — I — wanted your ” 

'The classmate behind him jumped to his feet and 
shouted: 

“There they come l Yale ! Yale ! Yale !” 

Hastings glanced along the water level up-river. 
Two black dots were visible, each fluttering thread- 
like tentacles. Abreast of them trailed the observa- 
tion-train, like a huge serpent of gaudy hues. He bit 
his lip and trembled with sudden excitement, while 
Cynthia Wells stood, one hand shading her eyes, so 
eagerly intent that it was plain that she had forgotten 
the oarsman out of the shell. The sea of blue, rippling 
along the train, told him that Yale was leading. He 
shut his eyes, fearing, until it sickened him, that some 
accident might happen to Yale, even with what seemed 
to be a safe lead. 


29 


SONS OF ELI 


V 

To those who did not know, the winners seemed to 
be playing with rowing as they swept toward the finish. 
With no apparent effort the blue-tipped blades flashed 
in and out, without even a feather of spray. Forward 
and back again rocked eight bare backs, working as if 
coupled on the same connecting-rod. Hands slipped 
easily into arched and heaving chests, and shot out 
with lightning speed; slow, slower, swooped the shoul- 
ders squared beneath necks like fluted columns and 
heads poised with airy grace. As Hastings leaned far 
out on the bow of the launch, waving his hat in a fury 
of approval, the shell rushed by him not twenty feet 
away, and the complaining roar of the slides was music 
in his ears. He could feel with that agony of effort to 
keep in form when every muscle cried out in rebellion, 
and the choking fight for breath, and yet, with it all, 
the glory of making the swing and catch fairly lift the 
quivering shell. And he knew, also, the intoxication 
of the sight of the Harvard crew laboring astern, as 
seen through eyes half blinded with sweat. 

Hastings was lifted out of himself until he saw his 
crew cease rowing and the oars trail like the wings of 
a tired bird. Then the defeated crew went past him. 
There were breaks in the swing, heads nodded on the 
catch, backs were bending, and bodies swaying athwart- 
ships. It was anything now to cross the line and 
rest. 


30 


A VICTORY UNFORESEEN 


Hastings had a new realization of what these whipped 
oarsmen felt, they whose high hopes were wrecked, 
whose labor, as long and as faithful as that of the 
winners, had gone for naught. After all, he did not 
belong with the winners, he was one of the losers, and 
he wished he might shake their hands. He cheered 
with all his voice, and Number Five of Harvard turned 
a drawn face to this salutation so close at hand, and 
in a quick glance recognized his dethroned rival, 
whom he had once met on the lawn at Gales Ferry. 
The man in the boat flashed a smile of comradeship 
to the man in the launch, and both felt better for the 
incident. 

Cynthia was clapping her hands, then she tore the 
violets from her gown and flung them as far as she 
could toward the distant crew. 

“Yale! Yale!” she cried. “Cast off. I want to 
work the launch down that way to see them. Wasn’t 
it glorious? Oh, I never saw anything half so fine. 
I want to shake their hands, every one of that beauti- 
ful, blessed crew. I’d give ten years of my life to be 
one of those men at this moment.” 

She had not looked at Jack, but he was determined 
to obtrude himself somehow. 

“How about the man who worked just as hard, and 
gets none of this hero-worship? Doesn’t he deserve 
anything from you?” 

“Poor old Jack!” she said tenderly. “Why, I 
forgot all about you for a little while. It is a shame 
you are not there. You ought to have tried just a 
31 


SONS OF ELI 


little bit harder, hadn’t you? Now you can’t be a 
hero, but don’t you care. We are all as sorry as sorry 
can be.” 

The launch had daringly poked a passage close to 
the float onto which the crew was now clambering 
from the shell. Big brown, half-naked men were hug- 
ging each other, and clumsily dancing in stockinged 
feet. Eagerly Cynthia asked her companion: 

“Do tell me which is which, Jack. I want to be 
able to know them all by name. Which is the Stroke, 
and which is the man at Number Five? I want to 
see if he looks like you.” 

Hastings gave the information very soberly. The 
Stroke caught sight of his clouded face, and yelled to 
his fellows: 

“Hey, here’s Jack Hastings! Three long cheers 
for him. Are you ready ? ” 

The cheer given by men still struggling to regain 
their normal breathing came so gratefully to Hast- 
ings that he felt like whimpering, because they un- 
derstood. The launch was deftly steered alongside 
the float, and grabbing the outstretched hand of Hast- 
ings, the Stroke nearly pulled him overboard, as he 
whispered: 

“Jack, I am glad you could see the race with the 
Only One. It must have helped you over the rough 
places. There is nothing like it when things look 
blue. God bless you both. Where is your mother? 
Be sure to come down to New Haven to-night, won’t 
you?” 


32 


A VICTORY UNFORESEEN 


The Stroke jumped to help load the oars on the 
coaching launch just as Cynthia said to Hastings: 

“Why didn’t you present me? I think you are a 
stupid old Jack.” 

Where was his mother? Guilty and ashamed, he 
stammered: 

“Please set me ashore anywhere as soon as you can, 
and I shall be eternally grateful.” 

She pouted. 

“Do you want to leave me so soon? Certainly, I 
will put you ashore if you wish. You have been as 
cross as a bear. You must do penance by coming off 
to dinner to-night.” 

“Thanks, I have another engagement,” said he, 
shortly. 

The observation-train had gone to the station, and 
it must be emptied of its freight by this time. There 
was no more time for talk with Cynthia, and he did 
not know what else to say to her to whom the day was 
an outing, vastly exciting and enjoyable. Still he 
sought one last word of sincere realization of his ill- 
fortune, and found no response to his own heart-hunger. 
He said “Good-by,” as he stepped ashore, and holding 
her hand for a moment: 

“I am glad that you have had such a pleasant after- 
noon, Cynthia. A friend in need is a friend indeed.” 

The tribute touched and pleased her, and the irony 
of it wholly escaped her, as she gayly called after him: 

“Be sure you don’t forget to look us up to-night.” 


33 


SONS OF ELI 


VI 

Hastings did not look behind him as with lowered 
head he ran along the railroad-track to the station, 
jumped into a cab and urged the driver to speed to 
the house where his mother must be waiting. 

Some one within heard his footstep, knew it for what 
she craved most to hear, and was in the doorway of 
her room when he saw her. Picking her up like a 
child, he covered her white hair, her tired face, her 
hands with kisses, and as she clung weeping on his 
breast, he carried her to a big armchair in the bay 
window. He was on his knees with his rumpled head 
in her lap when she found broken voice to say: 

“Oh, Jack, are you well? Are you all right? My 
own precious boy ! I have come to comfort and love 
you. Nothing else matters. Nothing else matters 
to me, now that I have found you safe and sound.” 

She twisted her slim fingers in his thick brown hair, 
and as she felt the warm pressure of his head in her 
lap, the years had stepped aside, and he was the little 
boy who used to flee to that dear sanctuary in every 
time of trial. And to her this was only another trouble, 
which only Mother could understand and clear from 
his path. When at length he looked up, she was 
shocked to see the shadow circles under his eyes, and 
the nervous twitching of the mouth that was so very 
like his mother’s. He was sobbing, and not ashamed 
of it, as he murmured: 


34 


A VICTORY UNFORESEEN 


“I have been disgraced and disappointed, but I 
don’t care any more now that I have found you. 
Are you all right, little mother? Did you think I 
had deserted you?” 

She told him of the race as she had seen it, and was 
with difficulty dissuaded from planning to search out 
the Head Coach, crying with the angry sparkle he 
loved of old: 

“It is not ladylike, Jack, but I would like to scratch 
his horrid eyes out. Of course, he should have kept 
you on the crew, but we are not going to cry over 
spilt milk, are we? I want you to tell me all about 
it — everything — so that we can look and find some 
consolation. Every cloud has a silver lining.” 

While he carried the tale down to the parting with 
Cynthia she smiled and frowned in turn, and wiped 
her eyes before he had finished. A mother’s intuition 
read between the lines and when the rueful confession 
halted, her arm stole around his neck, and she kissed 
him again. 

“It is a sad story,” she said; “but never let me hear 
that word disgrace as long as you live. Of course, I 
was nearly killed about it to-day, and I should have 
been crying for four nights at sea if I could have heard 
the news before I started. But it would have been 
only because you were unhappy and disappointed. 
What else are mothers for than to understand when 
the world seems upside down ? When you were seven 
years old, you were kept home from a Sunday-school 
picnic by the chicken-pox, and you told me in floods 
35 


SONS OF ELI 


of tears that you didn’t ‘b’lieve you could never, never, 
be happy again.’ I knew how small your world was, 
and that the chicken-pox was big enough to fill it to 
overflowing. 

“Now, you have tried your best, you rowed as well 
as you knew how, and the crew was everything to you, 
just as it ought to be. But some day you may have 
larger troubles, and they, too, shall pass away, and 
more and more you will come back to the simple 
gospel of living I have tried to teach you, that there 
is only one standard by which to judge success or fail- 
ure. Is the thing worth while, and have you done 
your best in the best way to gain it? I don’t mean 
to preach, my boy mine. You don’t want that. You 
want your mother. I know, I know.” 

She stroked his cheek as he went deep into his 
heart, and brought up more than he had ever told her 
before of his dreams of love, first love, and of what he 
had been building. His mother knew that she must 
be careful, and she hesitated, as if pondering how best 
to speak her view-point. 

“She did not understand, poor girl. It is not all 
her fault, and it is not yours, laddie boy. When the 
race began and I saw that you were not in the crew, 
it seemed as if I were in the depths of a bad dream. 
I was with you all the way, and I thought of nothing 
else. And I know that while you would have been 
with me if you could, yet if the girl were here you would 
wish in your heart to find her first. No, don’t try to 
deny it. But she did not know at all what it meant 
36 


A VICTORY UNFORESEEN 

to you, she could not know. But if she had loved 
you, she would have understood as I did. We 
will talk about her all night if it will make your 
heartache any better. What are we going to do 
now?” 

The boy straightened himself and threw back his 
wide shoulders, because his mother saw no cause for 
reproach in his downfall. But he did not want to see 
the crew again, and he wished to avoid the riotous 
celebration soon to burst. Obviously the best plan 
was to go to New Haven at once, where they could 
find refuge in his rooms, and pack his trunk for the 
vacation departure. 

To him this little journey from New London was a 
panic flight, to her it was made radiant by the one 
fact that her boy had come back to her. After dinner 
in a quiet comer of the college town, they went to his 
rooms on the campus. The sight of the two twelve- 
foot oars on the walls, his own trophies of two victories, 
their handles stained dark with the sweat of his hands, 
made her turn to him as they entered: 

“ Nothing can ever take those away from you, with 
all their splendid story of success.” 

The boy looked at them for an instant, then brushed 
a hand across his tired young eyes. 

“ Better make kindling of them,” he said. “Look 
at that one over there. I won it as a raw, overgrown 
Freshman, and three years later I can’t do as well as 
I did then. Matthews, The sub,’ will hang my third 
oar on his wall next year. I am going to curl up on 
37 


SONS OF ELI 

the window-seat and rest a while, mother. I feel all 
played out.” 

She, too, was very tired, but felt that her son had 
need of her, and she tried to soothe him to sleep, and 
smiled as she found herself half unconsciously hum- 
ming a slumber-song she had crooned to him twenty 
years before. Her photograph was on his desk, and 
framed near it the winsome face of Cynthia Wells, 
and she crossed the room to look closely and compre- 
hendingly at the girl who had acted in her own world 
as naturally as had the youth in his. When she re- 
turned to the window, her son was asleep, and she 
softly kissed him. 

Looking across the green, she saw a blaze of red 
fire that colored the evening sky. Rockets and Roman 
candles began to spangle the illumination, and pres- 
ently the far-away blare of a brass band crept nearer. 
She knew that these were signs of the home-coming of 
the crew, of the celebration whose glories Jack had 
eloquently portrayed. It was not disloyalty to him 
that she should want to see what it was like, although 
she knew he would not want to be there. Yet, feel- 
ing traitorish qualms, she scribbled a little note, say- 
ing she had gone out for a “ breath of fresh air,” and 
stole down the staircase. 

When she came to the comer the procession was 
rioting up Chapel Street toward the campus. The 
band preceded a tally-ho, on top of which were the 
heroes in their white boating uniforms, nervously 
dodging innumerable fiery darts aimed straight at 
38 


A VICTORY UNFORESEEN 


them by wild-eyed admirers on the pavement. Be- 
hind, surging from curb to curb, skipped thousands of 
students and townspeople, arm in arm, in common 
rapture. The wavering line of fireworks told that the 
tail of the parade was blocks and blocks away. 

The coach was stopped at the corner of the campus, 
as a hundred agile figures swarmed up the wheels, 
and dragged the crew to earth, from which they were 
instantly caught up, and borne on tossing shoulders 
to the stone steps oFthe nearest recitation-hall. There 
they were held aloft, still struggling, while cheers 
greeted each by name. 


VII 

Now, the celebration programme would have been 
halting and inadequate if the assistant manager of the 
Yale Navy had not hurried to New Haven on an earlier 
train. He had been in the car with John Hastings, 
and took it for granted that the sweet-faced woman of 
the silvery hair must be his mother. He was plunging 
through the crowd on the stone steps, trying to rescue 
the oarsmen in order to head them toward the ban- 
quet-hall, when beneath the arc-light on the comer, 
a little way out of the tumult, he saw the timid lady 
for whom he had felt much sympathy. The assistant 
manager was ably fitted for his official task of looking 
after details, because he fairly boiled over with initia- 
tive, and with him to think was to act, as the powder 
39 


SONS OF ELI 


speeds the bullet. He dashed across to Mrs. Hastings, 
and said, with a hurried and apologetic bow: 

“Beg pardon, but this is Jack Hastings’s mother, 
are you not? Yes, thank you, I was sure of it. It 
may seem presumptuous, but I have heard lots about 
you, and Jack has convinced me that you are the 
finest mother in the world, bar one. I have been so 
infem — so very busy since I got in town from New 
London, that I have had no time to look up Jack. 
We want him at the dinner, everybody does, and we 
want you just as much. In fact, you must be my 
special guest, and hear the speeches, anyhow, if you 
won’t stay any longer. Jack’s asleep, is he? Well, 
we’ll wake him up, all right.” 

The alarmed little mother tried to protest several 
things at once. Jack had sworn he would not go to 
the dinner, and that he would break the neck of the 
man who should try to rout him out. Of course, Jack 
would not do that really, but he was all worn out and 
needed the rest. Please not to disturb him, and she 
would not dream of going without him, and she did 
not want to go at all. Her earnestness was almost 
tearful, but the assistant manager, who had heard 
perhaps the first ten words, darted off and was back 
with two young men whose fists were full of cannon 
crackers. He had each fast by the coat-collar, and 
shoving them into the foreground like a pair of mario- 
nettes, he breathlessly blurted: 

“Mrs. Hastings, may I present Mr. S tower and Mr. 
‘ Stuffy’ Barlow, both Seniors, highly dignified and 
40 


A VICTORY UNFORESEEN 


proper persons. This is Jack Hastings’s mother. You 
are to escort Mrs. Hastings down to Harmonium 
Hall, and see that she has a nice seat in the gallery or 
near the door. No trouble at all, Mrs. Hastings, I 
assure you. Awfully glad to have had the honor of 
meeting you. Good-by. I’ll run over to Jack’s room 
and drag him down there in five minutes.” 

Mrs. Hastings had all the sensations of being kid- 
napped. She tried to protest, even to resist, but was 
like a leaf caught up in a torrent, as Messrs. Barlow 
and Stow T er, both talking at once, handed her politely 
but firmly into the depths of a hack, climbed in after 
her, and slammed the door. 

Almost in a twinkling, as it seemed to the agitated 
mother, she was being ushered carefully into a small 
music-gallery overlooking the banquet-floor, where, 
from a shadowy corner she could overlook the fes- 
tivities in semi-seclusion. She waited only until her 
genial abductors were out of sight, and then slipped 
furtively toward the stairs, intending, of course, to 
return to her boy if he did not appear forthwith. 
Uneasy and fluttering, she was also keenly interested, 
for had not John placed this picture before her, and 
what it had meant to him in other years? He met 
her at the top of the stairway, looking sheepish and 
alarmed. She tried to explain, but he cut her short 
with a laugh: 

“I know all about it. You fell a victim to the 
wiles of a terrible set of villains. You couldn’t help 
yourself. Neither could I, when I heard how you had 
41 


SONS OF ELI 


been spirited away. Now you are going to stay and 
see the fun, aren’t you?” 

She tried to persuade him to leave her and take his 
seat with the celebrants. 

“No, I have lost my seat,” said he, with the old 
shadow on his face. “I don’t belong there any more. 
... I don’t want to be seen. But the fellows prom- 
ised not to give me away. It is pretty nervy for me 
to come at all. But I am here only to escort you.” 

She took his hand and held it while they sat well 
back in a corner of the gallery and watched the com- 
pany trooping in. To the young oarsmen, so clean- 
cut and strong, tired but happy, all their woes and 
fears forgotten, this was their day of days. In a long 
row were seated the University eight, the substitutes, 
and the Freshman crew, which had also won its race. 
At the head of the table was “Big Bill” Hall, stout 
oarsman of thirty years ago, now a much stouter 
citizen. The captain of the crew was at his right, 
and at his left hand the beaming Head Coach, burned 
as black as any Indian. In another group were the 
younger coaches, most of them old strokes and cap- 
tains, and mighty men at Yale in their time. Other 
oarsmen of other days were welcomed, regardless of 
the formality of invitation. Perhaps forty men around 
the board had known the test of the four-mile course, 
brothers of the oar through nearly two generations of 
rowing history. 

The outcast was able to keep his poise until the 
Glee Club quartet rose to sing, by special request of 
42 


A VICTORY UNFORESEEN 


the Head Coach, “ Jolly Boating Weather.’’ The first 
tenor had a sweet and sympathetic voice, and he had 
heard the story of the singing of this song on the float 
just before the race, wherefore he did the verses un- 
commonly well. 

Then the old fellows, some with grizzled thatches, 
and some with thatches scant and thin, had their 
innings and pounded the table to emphasize their har- 
monious declaration that 

“ 1 Twenty years hence such weather 
Will tempt us from office-stools, 

We may be slow on the feather, 

And seem to the boys old fools/ 

But we’ll still swing together ” 

The song carried to Hastings as the last straw to 
break the endurance which had pulled him through 
the long, long day. He did not want his mother to 
see his quivering lip, and he thought she would not 
perceive that he was near to breaking down. Did she 
know? Why, she felt his emotion in the hand she 
clasped tighter than before, she read his thoughts in 
the very beat of his pulse, and when he whispered 
that he must have caught a cold in the head because 
he was getting an attack of sniffles, she needed no 
words to enlighten her understanding. If his tears 
were those of a boy, then she thanked God she was 
childish enough to feel with him at every step and 
turn of the way that was blocked by the biggest sorrow 
43 


SONS OF ELI 


of his life. She asked him whether he would like to 
go home. He shook his head and said that he would 
stick it through to the end. 

VIII 

Speeches were in order, and the presiding alumnus 
hove himself out of his chair, and hammered the table 
with the rudder of the winning shell, thoughtfully 
lifted and provided by the able assistant manager. 
There were cheers for “Big Bill” Hall, of the ’73 crew, 
more cheers for Yale, and before the uproar was quiet 
his great voice roared above it as he began to speak. 
Presiding Judge of the Supreme Court of a New Eng- 
land State when at home, he was all a Yale man come 
back to his own upon such occasions as this, and be- 
cause Yale men loved him they called him “Big Bill.” 

“When we get into the big world beyond the cam- 
pus,” he began, “it may seem to some that this in- 
tensity of purpose, this absorption in a sport, were 
childish, yet we do not regret those convictions, we 
are proud of them, for these same qualities make for 
manhood in the larger duties of a wider horizon. And, 
after all, are the things for which we are striving in 
after-years any more worth while? Are they always 
sweetened and uplifted by so much devotion, unselfish- 
ness, loyalty, and singleness of purpose? Are they 
thrilled by as fine a spirit of manliness? We hear it 
said that the old Yale spirit is losing its savor, that 
men are working for themselves rather than for the 
44 


A VICTORY UNFORESEEN 


college, that they hold in light esteem things that 
were sacred and vital to us. I do not believe these 
criticisms are true. 

“The young man I wished most to see is not here 
to-night. He would not come to help us celebrate a 
victory over an ancient and honorable foe. He believes 
that he has lost the respect of his comrades and that 
he has been proven a failure. For three years he has 
been a University oar. This season he could not keep 
his weight down to the limit of former years, he found 
that he could not keep up with the eight, although he 
tried as never before, and he was not helping the crew. 
The day came when he had to be removed, and he 
experienced as bitter disappointment as could befall 
a young man of spirit and pluck. The coaches and 
captain expected that he would throw up training, 
leave the Quarters, and go home. It was the natural 
thing to do, because he was cut to the soul, and it was 
like attending his own funeral services to hang around 
the place. 

“Without a word he slipped into the place of a sub- 
stitute, and did a substitute's work as long as there 
was need of it. I venture to say that he would have 
scrubbed out the boat-house if it would have been of 
service to the crew. Do you know why he took this 
stand? Not because he did not care, but because he 
cared so much. When he offered to help as a sub- 
stitute, he said: 

‘“If I can help the Yale shell to go faster by being 
out of it, I am glad of it. That is what I am rowing 
45 


SONS OF ELI 


for. And if I can be of any use as a substitute, why, 
that is what I am here for, too. It is all for Yale, 
isn’t it?’ 

“He did not know that he was overheard. It was 
not meant to be overheard. But it expressed his 
whole attitude, and he stood by it to the end. You 
youngsters who licked Harvard to-day deserve all the 
praise and rejoicing that comes to you. We are all 
proud of you, and we know how hard and well you 
have worked. But while you are the heroes of this 
celebration, the hero did not row with you. His 
name is ‘Jack’ Hastings, the man who was glad to 
help a Yale crew go faster by getting out of it. 

“And when you hear it said that the Yale spirit is 
dying out, I want you to think of that remark. That 
man absorbed the spirit right here that made him take 
that view as a matter of course. It was because he 
did not think of anything else to be done under the 
circumstances that he epitomized the spirit that will 
make this old place great as long as it stands. En- 
dowments and imposing buildings can never breed 
that spirit. It grows and blossoms as the fruitage of 
many generations of tradition, and when Yale loses 
it, she is become an empty shell, a diploma factory, 
and no longer a nursery of the right kind of manhood 
needed in this country. 

“Three long cheers for ‘Jack’ Hastings, who, if he 
did not help to win this race, will help to win races 
long after he is gone from the campus world, and so 
long as his words are remembered Yale men on foot- 
46 


A VICTORY UNFORESEEN 


ball-field, on track and diamond, and on the old 
Thames course will feel their inspiration. Are you 
ready ?” 

The men rose the length of the table, and shouted, 
with napkins waved on high. Before the last “Rah, 
rah, rah, Hastings, Hastings, Hastings,” subsided, the 
assistant manager had become red in the face and ex- 
ceedingly uneasy. He wrestled with a weighty ethical 
problem, because while he had pledged his word not 
to reveal the secret of Hastings’s presence within sight 
and sound of this ovation, he realized that to lead him 
in would be a crowning and dramatic episode. A com- 
promise was possible, however, and he slipped around 
the table and whispered in the ear of “flig Bill” 
Hall. 

In the gallery the little mother had shrunk farther 
back into the shadows, half afraid of this uproar, yet 
happier than ever before in her life. She looked at 
her boy, sitting close beside her, his face hidden so 
that she could not see the illuminating joy in it, the 
dazed look of unreality, as if he were coming through 
dreamland. There was no surprise in her mind. Of 
course this triumph was no more than what was due, 
and she could have hugged the massive chairman as a 
person of excellent discernment. The boy whispered: 

“He does not really mean it, mother. There is 
some mistake. He has been out of college so long 
that he does not know what things mean.” 

She patted his burning cheek and whispered: 

“Why, I knew it all the time. But you would not 
47 


SONS OF ELI 


believe it if your mother said you were a hero. I 
wonder how the Head Coach feels now ? I wish I ” 

With a quick leap Jack had wrenched himself away 
and was clattering down the stairs. He had seen the 
whispered conference and “Big Bill” Hall staring up 
at the gallery, and fearing that he was trapped and 
betrayed, he fled into the street and was running for 
the nearest corner before the assistant manager could 
pass through the hall to the foot of the stairs. The 
conspirator had not promised silence regarding Hast- 
ings’s mother, and before she knew what was happen- 
ing he was by her side, so quickly that she thought it 
was Jack returned to her. As she looked up in alarm, 
the assistant manager had her reluctant hand, and 
was insisting upon leading her to the railing of the 
little gallery. She gazed at the upturned faces, and 
there was a moment of expectant silence. Then 
Judge Hall shouted the command: “Three long cheers 
for Jack Hastings’s mother.” 

She was trembling now, and the lights and faces 
below swam in a mist of tears as she timidly bowed. 
Then, as the full realization of the tribute swept over 
her like an engulfing wave, she became youthfully 
erect, she smiled, and blew kisses with both her slen- 
der hands toward the long table. She was thanking 
them in behalf of her boy, that was all, because they, 
too, understood. Certain that he must be waiting 
not far away, she bowed again, and hurried down the 
stairs, meeting the Head Coach in the hall. His face 
was serious, his manner abashed, as he said: 

48 


' A VICTORY UNFORESEEN 


“I want to ask whether you will shake hands with 
me, Mrs. Hastings. I am proud that you do me the 
honor. I wish to tell you something more than you 
have heard to-night, and I am going to tell it to all 
the men, when I return to the room. Your son was 
too heavy to handle himself as well as he did last 
year and the year before. But I believe he would have 
rowed in the race if a mistake had not been made. 
I found out when it was too late that his rigging, or 
measurements, in the shell was not right for him, and 
it would have made considerable difference if he could 
have been shifted in time. It was wholly my fault, 
and nobody else was to blame in any way. I can 
never make it up to him, and my only consolation is 
that you have found what I have learned, that he is 
a good deal finer man than we thought him, and an 
honor to Yale beyond all the rest of us. You must 
hate me, more than any one else in the world. I re- 
member how my mother shared my joys and sorrows 
in the crew.” 

The mother put out her hand again, and clasped 
that of the Coach, as she said simply, but with a catch 
of emotion in her voice: 

“I did hate you to-day. I thought you had broken 
my boy’s heart. Now I have to thank you. God’s 
ways are not our ways, and I rejoice that while I have 
lost a captain of the crew, I have gained a man, every 
inch of him, tried in the fire and proven. This is the 
happiest night of my fife. I would rather have heard 
the speech of Judge Hall, and the cheers that followed 
49 


SONS OF ELI 


it, than to have my son in four winning crews and 
captain of every one of them. Of course he is a hero. 
Didn’t you know that?” 

The Head Coach started to speak, when the elbow 
of “Big Bill” Hall nudged him. The bulk of him 
filled the passageway, and his voice boomed out into 
the night: 

“If you don’t bring that boy around to the hotel 
to see me in the morning, I will take back all I have 
said about him, Mrs. Hastings. Now I know where 
he gets all his fine qualities.” 

She blushed and courtesied, and the two men es- 
corted her to the pavement, as John Hastings slipped 
from a doorway across the street and came over to 
them. His mother’s escort, believing that he had 
been no nearer the banquet than this, made a rush for 
him, which he nimbly dodged, slipped his mother’s 
arm in his. 

“He is mine now,” said she. “He has a previous 
engagement, and, besides, I don’t want him spoiled. 
Good night to you. Come along, Jack, you are not 
too big to mind your mother, are you?” 

The two walked slowly across the Green toward the 
campus. The communion of their uplifted souls was 
perfect, their happiness almost beyond words. She 
was first to break this rare, sweet silence, and strangely 
enough, she said nothing about the vindication and 
the triumph. Looking up into his face, she almost 
whispered: 

“Are you caring so much that Cynthia disappointed 
5 ° 


A VICTORY UNFORESEEN 


you to-day, dear boy of mine? Does it hurt and 
rankle? I could see it in your eyes to-night. Do 
you want to marry her very much? Are you sure of 
your heart?” 

He winced a little and held her arm tighter than 
before, as he replied: 

“It has been my first real love-story, as you know. 
The thought of her has helped me over many a rough 
place. Before to-day she was always so quick to 
understand. And — and she seemed to like me better 
than any other fellow she knew. I was fairly aching 
to be worthy of her, to make my place in the world 
for her. I wasn’t conceited enough to think she loved 
me. I was only hoping that some day — Any man 
has a right to do that, has he not ? ” 

It was not easy for the mother to say what she 
wished to tell him, but at length her response was: 

“I don’t want you to think I am criticising her, or 
sitting in judgment, but you must not let her mar 
your faith and hope and happiness. I want to help 
you to guard those precious gifts. You must not 
blame her too much. You have been believing that 
she understood you, because you would have it that 
way. She is no older than you, a girl of twenty, accus- 
tomed to a wholly different life than yours. She was 
flattered by your attention, for you were a great man 
in her eyes. She liked you because no one can help 
liking you. But it made a difference when you were 
a hero knocked off his pedestal. And yet you ex- 
pected to find in her sympathy, a balm that even your 
5i 


SONS OF ELI 


mother could not give. Poor lad, mothers are handy 
sometimes, but most boys do not find it out until their 
mothers are gone from them.” 

“I thought I knew her so well,” said he, after an- 
other silence. “It looks as if I had amused her and 
nothing more. But I have found you, and I have 
fallen head over heels in love with you, mother mine, 
all over again, and I am going to kiss you right under 
this electric light.” 

Even yet she was not sure that she had sounded 
the depths of the ache in his heart, but as she looked 
up at the light in his campus rooms, she said softly: 

“Some day you will understand, and will thank God 
your mother understood. He giveth you the victory 
unforeseen.” 


52 


FOLLOW THE BALL 


The captain of the Yale eleven was a pale, morose 
young man who had no use for idle conversation. 
When off the field he spoke so seldom that a remark 
was an event. Other men had sat at the training- 
table with him through a whole season and heard him 
utter nothing more loquacious than a request to pass 
the butter. His countenance was thin and melan- 
choly, his physique so far from robust that he ap- 
peared to have one foot in the grave. It seemed cruel 
to permit him to endure the rough hazards of foot- 
ball. Round-shouldered, emaciated, he was the best 
end rush in America. 

It was football genius, of course; brains instead of 
brawn, a nervous energy that flamed into action swift 
and sure. He followed the ball with an uncanny 
sixth sense. Let the enemy fumble and there was 
Captain Fred Varney ready to take advantage of it. 
His tackling was within the rules, but grimly ferocious. 
He could no more be shaken off than a bulldog, and 
he slammed his man into the earth instead of dragging 
him down. After watching his play one would have 
concluded that football was anything else than a 
pastime. 

The words were few when he talked to his team, but 
every phrase had a bite to it. Unsmiling, masking 
his emotions, with no intimate friends, his was a sin- 
53 


SONS OF ELI 


gular personality for an undergraduate of twenty-one. 
There was none of the spirit of youth in him. He 
seemed to have been designed for the sole purpose of 
turning out a winning football machine. 

No one could have been more unlike him than that 
blithesome, noisy member of the squad, Bob Sedg- 
wick, who had been given a trial at guard in the 
varsity line-up. And when he was actually selected 
to play in one of the early games, and the coaches 
were inclined to keep him in the position, his enthu- 
siasm was beyond words. Yale was the greatest 
place that ever happened, the sophomore class was 
the finest on record, and now he had a fighting chance 
to win his “Y” on Fred Varney’s eleven. At least a 
hundred of his classmates congratulated him. His 
was the gift of popularity, and there would have been 
as many to admire him if he had won no fame what- 
ever as an athlete. 

The captain took pains to chasten and humble the 
soul of young Robert Sedgwick, laboring to convince 
him that he was a wretched apology of a player, and 
a holy show at left guard. The victim took it good- 
naturedly, and strove with might and main to mend 
his faults. But it cut deep to hear Varney’s gruff 
voice bark briefly: 

“ Rotten, Sedgwick; rotten ! Let that man through 
again, you big stuff, and I’ll know for sure you have a 
yellow streak.” 

The coaches were less unkind, although there were 
too many of them, and their shouted orders were con- 
54 


FOLLOW THE BALL 


fusing. When they got in each others way, and 
Varney’s patience was overtaxed, he waved them to 
the side-lines and they obeyed with astonishing meek- 
ness. Here was a captain, indeed, who proposed to 
lead his own team. These older men, graduates of 
renown, did not quite know how to handle him, but 
he was getting results in his own grim fashion, and 
the players feared him more than they feared the 
entire Yale faculty. 

In the dressing-room Bob Sedgwick confided his grief 
to the other guard, “Hank” Tripp, veteran of two 
seasons. 

“He makes me so mad that I want to turn around 
and paste him. Did you hear him tell me I was 
yellow? And he said it with that snarl out of the 
corner of his mouth.” 

“He called me a beefy pot- walloper yesterday,” 
calmly replied Tripp, whose temper was phlegmatic, 
“and he threatened to kick the pants off me. Don’t 
let him discourage you. It’s all for the best. We 
need poking up or Varney wouldn’t be so nasty.” 

“Was he born with that grouch?” curiously de- 
manded Sedgwick. “Does he wear it all the year? 
Has he any of the attributes of a human being?” 

“I roomed with him for six months, and he was far 
from chatty company. It was restful, on the level, 
to get away from all the foolish dialogue. Human? 
The man has a heart as big as a football.” 

“Then I ought not to take it too seriously when he 
damns me as a coward and a quitter?” 

55 


SONS OF ELI 


“Forget it, son. All in the game! A stiff upper 
lip and follow the ball! You are doing all you can, 
and Fred Varney knows it.” 

At the practice next day Bob Sedgwick was given 
something else to think about. The coaches were even 
more active than usual, and half a dozen of them 
swarmed over the field. During an interval they put 
their heads together for consultation, and presently 
there joined them a tall, fair man in the early thirties. 
He was good-looking and well-dressed, presumably 
acquainted with clubs and late hours. His face sug- 
gested that of young Sedgwick, although weaker and 
less wholesomely frank. He greeted the group of 
coaches with effusive cordiality, accosting them by 
their first names, slapping them on the back. They 
were awkwardly unresponsive, as if this old friend 
were unwelcome, but he was not to be so easily re- 
buffed. 

“I found I could come East for a month or two,” 
he exclaimed, “and I made a bee-line for New Haven. 
Perfectly bully to find all you chaps on the job ! Lend 
me a sweater and I’ll show these infants how we used 
to play full-back. I can stay with them for the rest 
of the season as well as not.” 

“Er — I see, Joe — but you will have to speak to 
Captain Varney about it,” returned one of the others. 
“The coaching staff is recruited to full strength. The 
system was changed this year. We came back by 
invitation of the captain. He made out his own list.” 

“He did? Well, he overlooked a bet,” was the un- 
56 


FOLLOW THE BALL 


perturbed comment. “ According to the newspaper 
dope, you haven’t a sure-fire toe artist on the team. 
Wofully weak! Not to brag, but as a drop-kicker 
was I in a class by myself or not?” 

“You were one of the best backs that ever wore a 
shoe,” agreed another coach, “but the decision isn’t 
up to us, Joe.” 

The atmosphere was distinctly unfriendly, and the 
expert drop-kicker turned with a shrug to look at the 
team. Robert Sedgwick had to be shoved into the 
line before he awoke from an unhappy trance. Twice 
he bungled the signals and spoiled the formations. 
The captain lashed him with bitter insults, but he 
heard them not until Hank Tripp savagely muttered, 
as they untangled themselves from a scrimmage: 
“The scrub eleven for yours if you don’t buck up. 
Are you hurt? Hit over the head? Call the trainer 
if you feel queer.” 

“Never mind,” murmured Sedgwick. “I’m all 
right now. Nothing serious. I won’t do it again.” 

He set himself alertly and opened the line at the 
next signal to let the runner and his interference crash 
through inside of tackle, but it was done mechanically, 
his mind still elsewhere. He had seen the tableau, 
the hostile coaches, and the affable intruder, and he 
had grasped its significance. His brother Joe, grad- 
uated a dozen years earlier, had come back to Yale, 
where he was not wanted, where even his old friends 
gave him the cold shoulder. To Robert he had been 
little more than a sorrowful memory, estranged from 
57 


SONS OF ELI 


the family whose name he had discredited, an exile 
from home. He was supposed to be on the Pacific 
coast, with some sort of a connection in the real-estate 
business, when last heard from. 

The younger brother tried to persuade himself that 
Joe had made good and was determined to live down 
his record, but this was not easy to believe, for the 
prodigal son had not the air of genuine repentance. 
To Bob’s critical eye he appeared coarsened and flashy, 
a trifle out of place in the company of self-respecting 
gentlemen. 

Fred Varney drove the two elevens through twenty 
minutes of fiercely unremitting play before the two 
Sedgwicks had an opportunity of meeting. As the 
weary men trotted from the field, Joe picked up the 
ball, his manner careless and jaunty, and drop-kicked 
from the forty-yard line. Straight and true it soared 
between the posts, a beautiful feat which none of 
Varney’s backs could have equalled. The coaches 
applauded, and the crowd of undergraduate spectators 
wondered who this wizard of the gridiron might 
be. With a laugh he intercepted Robert, who was 
in a shocking state of muddiness and wore a black 
eye. 

“ Hello, Bob ! How’s the kid? I didn’t know you. 
I had to ask. Perhaps I couldn’t have recognized you 
on the campus. Five or six years, isn’t it? You 
were a chunk in short breeches — hadn’t gone away to 
prep school. Left guard on the varsity? The old 
stuff ! You can’t keep a Sedgwick off the team.” 

58 


FOLLOW THE BALL 


Joe spoke rapidly, in affectionate tones. The young- 
ster's steady gaze disturbed him, as though his sin- 
cerity were weighed and doubted. They were, in 
fact, like strangers, and Bob, who could not pretend 
what he failed to feel, replied: 

“ You are a good deal of a surprise-party, Joe. Pass- 
ing through town, are you, and dropped off to look 
over the team?" 

“ Better than that. Varney needs me. I'm at his 
service. I will fix it up with him right away. Good 
Lord, Bob, you fellows have a good offensive for 
straight ground gaining, but the kicking is awful, and 
the backs are a crude lot." 

“Our best drop-kicker and punter sprained his 
ankle last week," said Bob, with spirit. “He will be 
fit again soon. Of course we have nobody as clever 
as you. Joe Sedgwick is a tradition." 

“A live one," smiled the other. “Watch my smoke. 
See you after supper at your room? You are tied to 
the training-table, I suppose. Lucky kid !" 

Bob nodded and slowly followed his comrades, 
halting once to look back at Joe, who had presented 
himself to the silent captain of the eleven. What hap- 
pened at this interview was in the nature of a mono- 
logue, conducted by the genial Mr. Joseph Sedgwick. 
Fred Varney stood with his hands on his hips, gazing 
at the ground. The blue jersey, wet with sweat, 
clung to his angular shoulders, and was plastered 
against his gaunt ribs. The excitement of the game 
had died within him. His face, no longer aglow with 
59 


SONS OF ELI 


a very fury of endeavor, was sad and severe. He 
sagged with weariness. 

Joe Sedgwick began to comprehend why the coaches 
were under this young man’s thumb. He was an ex- 
traordinary Yale captain. The great drop-kicker of 
other days lost somewhat of his self-assurance. This 
was like talking to a graven image. Sedgwick actually 
faltered before he finished, shorn of all his bluff and 
bluster. Varney heard him through, waited a moment, 
and said very quietly: 

“You won’t do. I wanted you when I planned the 
season’s work, but your reputation killed you with 
me. You may be a great coach, Sedgwick, but you 
are a bad performer. I’ll take my chances of losing 
to Harvard rather than let a crook help me win.” 

The insult staggered the older man. The color 
left his florid cheek, and he chewed his lip, glancing 
hastily about to discover if there had been an audience. 
He clinched his fists and moved a step closer, but 
Varney had resumed his weary, indifferent attitude, 
and made no effort to defend himself. Sedgwick’s 
moral fibre had been weakened, and he had lived by 
his wits too long to be readily courageous in a crisis. 
Not that he desired a rough-and-tumble fight with 
this young ruffian of a Varney, but he should be able 
to compel an apology. 

“How long have they been putting muckers in 
charge of Yale teams?” he stormily exclaimed. 

“You passed a bad check or two, didn’t you?” 
queried Varney, gloomily ignoring personalities. “And 
60 


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your father settled and kept you out of jail? You 
couldn’t go straight even after that, so I have been 
told. You can’t coach here. This team of mine is 
going to come through clean, understand?” 

The truth was exceedingly difficult to combat. 
Sedgwick gasped, thrust his hands in his pockets, and 
blurted: 

“You are infernally particular. I can coach rings 
around this bunch of sanctimonious dubs who are mis- 
handling the team for you.” 

“ Nothing doing! If you butt in to-morrow I shall 
have you thrown off the field, Mr. Sedgwick.” 

With this the captain walked away, pulling a sweater 
down over his head. The disgruntled Joseph stared 
after him, was about to pursue, thought better of it, 
and strode in the direction of the gate. For once his 
bomb-proof effrontery had been shattered. Revisit- 
ing the scenes of his youthful prowess had proved a 
most unsuccessful business. Under his breath he 
cursed the place as ungrateful, and the football cap- 
tain as an impossible beast who deserved a dose of 
discipline. There had been no invitation to join the 
coaches* for a jovial reunion supper at the training- 
table, and he therefore sought a familiar little res- 
taurant upon whose walls were displayed the framed 
photographs of Yale teams and crews of many college 
generations. There Mr. Sedgwick beheld himself — 
lithe, handsome, alert, the twin likeness of that boy- 
ish brother of his who now played left guard. 

Bob was another sort, with a saving grace of steadi- 
61 


SONS OF ELI 


ness and common sense, reflected Joe, not apt to 
make a mess of life. No doubt he kept out of debt 
and steered within his allowance. Bob was alone in 
his room when Joe appeared, and spoke pleasantly, 
but was obviously perturbed. The elder brother had 
been a source of family tribulation, and his presence 
in New Haven was an embarrassment. 

“That eleven of yours is sure to be licked, Bob,” 
cheerfully exclaimed the black sheep. “The best ma- 
terial in the world would be wasted with that fat- 
headed crowd of coaches and a stubborn idiot like 
Varney taking all the power into his own hands.” 

“It is early in the season to size up the situation, 
isn’t it?” replied Robert, nettled by this cock-sure ver- 
dict, but resolved to avoid a quarrel. 

“Not for a man with a football eye, my boy. Yale 
is in a rut and doesn’t know how to get out of it. 
Listen to me and I’ll tell you what’s the matter.” 

Swiftly, with a lucid, penetrating intelligence that 
amazed the Sophomore, Joe analyzed the team as he 
had watched it during a brief period of practice, in- 
dicating the flaws in tactics and how to mend them. 
He suggested new formations, radical and sensational, 
which he said were his own invention. An enthusiast 
sure of his ground, he talked with brilliant, confident 
ease. 

“ Say, Joe, but you have kept right up with the game 
and a little ahead of it,” cried Robert. “That stuff 
sounds great. I didn’t know you were a football 
genius.” 


62 


FOLLOW THE BALL 


“Thought I could kick, and nothing more? Man, 
I dream football ! You chaps have one coach to drill 
the backs and another for the tackles, and a third for 
the centre men, and so on, and this barbarian Varney 
to put the fear of God into you, but nobody to pull the 
thing together and teach grand strategy. And they 
won’t give me a chance.” 

“They turned you down, Joe? What put it into 
your head to come and offer your services? I can’t 
figure it out.” 

“I hoped to be taken on because they pay a coach’s 
expenses,” was the unashamed confession. “It was 
a last resort, to tide me over a couple of months. I 
am on my uppers, as usual.” 

“I suspected it was something like that,” sighed 
Bob. “I haven’t pictured you as a very loyal Yale 
man.” 

“After the way I was treated this afternoon? That 
cured me of any ‘dear old college chum’ nonsense. 
Hit a man when he’s down ! Fine spirit !” 

[ “Why not blame yourself, Joe? Has the college 
any reason to be proud of you?” hotly retorted Bob. 

“Come, none of that!” And the elder brother 
looked ugly. “Don’t be fresh. Let’s get down to 
business. I don’t want to hang around New Haven. 
A hundred dollars will help until something else turns 
up. I have one or two propositions in sight. Imitate 
a young man filled with brotherly love, if you please, 
and take me to your bank in the morning.” 

“I have to run on a pretty close margin,” slowly 
63 


SONS OF ELI 


replied Bob. “The folks think you had too much 
money to spend in college, and — well, it gave you ex- 
travagant tastes, perhaps. Anyhow, they give me 
less than half as much as you had. A hundred dol- 
lars? I can’t spare that much, honestly.” 

Joe became sullen, resembling a spoiled child. He 
walked the floor before he said, with a contemptuous 
laugh: 

“Held up to you as the awful warning, am I? Do 
as you like about that hundred. If you can’t dig it 
up, I am liable to get drunk and raise Hades on the 
campus, and disgrace your college career. I am some 
Indian when I warm up.” 

“That sounds like blackmail to me,” angrily ex- 
claimed the younger brother. “You deserve to be 
thrown down-stairs. If I stake you to the cash will 
you promise to let me alone hereafter? I don’t pro- 
pose to have you assume that you can come to New 
Haven and pull my leg whenever you feel like it. 
It’s rough to say, Joe, but I simply can’t have an- 
other scene like that on the football-field to-day.” 

!'• “Welcomed by my loving friends, you mean? It 
must have harrowed your childish emotions. I give 
you my word. The shadow of Joseph Sedgwick will 
trouble you no more. Do I get the hundred ? ” 

“After chapel to-morrow. There is no getting 
away from the fact that you are my only brother. 
What have you been doing lately? I haven’t heard 
a word from home about you.” 

“Here, there, and everywhere, Bob. I am a roll- 
64 


FOLLOW THE BALL 


mg stone. Let it go at that. Far be it from me to 
bring a blush to your downy cheek by reciting the 
adventures of a man who has a natural aversion for 
industry.” 

Nothing more could be coaxed from the prodigal 
in the way of biography. He much preferred to talk 
football, and when they returned to this absorbing 
topic, Bob found his society no longer distasteful. 
They patched up a truce, and ended the evening quite 
amiably. After all, they were of the closest kin, and 
there were unclouded associations of Bob’s early boy- 
hood to draw them together, and he could remember 
when Joe was an idol and a hero beyond compare. 

When they parted next day, Robert thoughtfully 
escorted him to the train in order to be certain he left 
town. The scapegrace was moved to say: 

“My conscience was not dead, but sleeping. Hon- 
estly, kid, I dislike separating you from this coin by 
methods which savor of a hold up. However, neces- 
sity knows no law. Don’t laugh. I have a notion 
of paying it back some day. You may hear from me. 
When you write home just tell them that you saw 
me, nothing more, if you please.” 

“Why don’t you write?” replied Bob, with feeling. 
“Dad is hostile, but mother keeps your roo*n all ready 
and waiting for you.” 

Joe turned away, hanging his head, and his de- 
meanor was more forlorn than jaunty as he swung 
himself aboard a New York train. Bob was reminded 
of him at the football-field that afternoon when the 
65 


SONS OF ELI 

captain called him aside to say in his curt, morose 
fashion: 

“Your brother gone? Sorry I had to roast him. I 
didn’t like hurting your feelings. He is a chesty per- 
son, and I had to bump him hard to get rid of him. 
You understand?” 

“Perfectly, Fred. You did your duty. It was an 
unfortunate impulse on his part.” 

“I have to follow the ball all the time,” said Var- 
ney, stating his doctrine of life in these few words. 

Among what were called the minor games of the 
season was one scheduled with Bittinger College. 
This institution had only a few hundred students, but 
football ardor was rampant, and this was to be the 
first opportunity of measuring strength with so famous 
a foe as Yale. There were rumors that the eleven 
had been recruited by methods rather dubious, and 
inducements not wholly scholastic. A few wealthy 
alumni had lavishly subscribed to a fund for the pur- 
pose of making an impression in the football-world, 
and the report came to New Haven that their slogan 
was anything to beat Yale. 

Within a week after Joseph Sedgwick had vanished 
into the unknown, Bob received from him a letter con- 
taining this interesting information: 

I signed a contract yesterday to coach at Bittinger for the 
rest of the season, with a renewal clause at a fancy salary if 
I deliver the goods. In New York I happened to run across 
a sporty pal from Toledo who was expelled from this busy little 
Bittinger College some years ago, and shouts louder for his 
66 


FOLLOW THE BALL 

Alma Mater than if he had been given a string of diplomas 
and degrees. He had been trying to locate me, it seems. He 
rushed me straight up here, a meeting of the football advisory 
committee was called, and I named my own terms. They 
know real talent when they find it and are not so fussy as your 
crowd. 

A huskier set of blacksmiths than these pets of mine never 
ripped up a rush-line, and I have a drop-kicker warranted to 
give you chaps heart disease. I shall teach them some real 
football. I am out to trim dear old Yale, my boy. You are 
welcome to pass it on to that merry wight, Varney. I hope 
to make him look more than ever like the victim of some great 
sorrow. 

You will call me a renegade, I presume. Piffle ! Yale 
would let me starve to death. Revenge is sweet. If I could 
afford it, I would coach Bittinger College for nothing if I hon- 
estly thought she could give Yale a drubbing. I will not aim 
too many heavy plays at left guard, unless you weaken, for I 
should really hate to see you put in a hospital, but it will be 
no fault of mine if Varney isn’t carried off by the head and the 
heels. Your affectionate brother, Joe. j 

This letter offended young Bob, whose ideals of 
honor and loyalty were keenly sensitive. Other Yale 
men were coaching the teams of other colleges, but 
they displayed none of this vindictive, traitorous spirit, 
nor would they associate themselves with an eleven 
whose reputation was tainted with professionalism, 
even though the charges were unproven. He was re- 
luctant to show the letter to Varney and further be- 
smirch the name of Sedgwick. The Yale captain was 
capable of taking care of himself, and threats to “do 
him up” were an old story. When attempted, it was 

67 


SONS OF ELI 

invariably the other fellow who required first aid to 
the injured. 

The coaches took the Bittinger game seriously as 
soon as the newspapers announced that Joe Sedgwick 
had been given command. They respected his talent 
and surmised that he bore them no good-will. It was 
decided in council to put into the contest the most 
powerful combination that could be mustered, and to 
perfect certain plays which had been reserved for later 
development. The impossible Sedgwick taunted the 
Yale coaching staff in printed interviews as incom- 
petent and out of date. This was so irritating that 
the team was worked harder than it should have been, 
and the importance of the game was magnified. Secret 
practice was ordered, and the gates of the field were 
guarded with unusual care. 

A gang of laborers had begun digging a trench for a 
water-pipe at one end of the enclosure. They showed 
little interest in the battling football-squads, and an 
Irish foreman saw to it that they assiduously applied 
themselves to the pick and shovel. There joined them 
one day a trampish individual in earth-stained over- 
alls who professed to be eager to break his back in 
the ditch in order to ward off starvation from his 
numerous household. He was tall, well-built, and 
fair-haired, but a bit flabby for hard labor. The fore- 
man was short-handed, and put this worthy applicant 
on the pay-roll. 

He went at it pluckily, but his wind was poor, and 
the crop of blisters excessively painful. Now and then 
68 


FOLLOW THE BALL 


he snatched a moment’s ease when the foreman’s back 
was turned, and as he leaned on a shovel his keen eyes 
sought the field on which the varsity eleven was sav- 
agely hammering away at its new and secret forma- 
tions. His face expressed an intelligent interest singu- 
lar in a laborer. One might have said that he had 
seen better days. Occasionally he grinned, rubbed his 
unshaven chin, and remained cheerful even when 
cursed as a loafing, worthless hound. 

At night this observant person made sundry entries 
and diagrams in a note-book before rubbing his back 
with liniment and betaking himself early to bed. He 
lasted no more than three days, and was then dismissed 
in disgrace. Still of a pleasant temper he departed 
from New Haven by trolley with his worldly goods in 
a bundle, changed his clothes in another city, and con- 
tinued the return journey to Bittinger College. There 
he said nothing about his experience in the ditch, but 
it was noted that his stalwart blacksmiths were in- 
structed in breaking up certain plays hitherto unknown 
to them. 

The game occurred at New Haven. The students 
from Bittinger surged into town with a brass band 
and rolls of money which they flaunted with the boast- 
ful purpose of betting the sons of Eli to a standstill. 
There were three hundred of them, and they made 
noise enough for a thousand. Those too poor to pay 
the railroad fare found free tickets thoughtfully pro- 
vided by that same devoted group of alumni which 
had financed the engagement of Mr. Joseph Sedgwick. 

69 


SONS OF ELI 


The Yale campus rallied to support Fred Varney’s 
team, determined to out-cheer and otherwise suppress 
this blatant invasion. 

Young Bob Sedgwick felt stale and nervous. For 
the first time he dreaded the clash and stress of a hard 
contest. He envied the captain, moody, impassive, 
to whom one day was like another. Joe Sedgwick re- 
mained with his own men, ignoring Yale acquaintances, 
as though he came as a stranger. The situation was 
almost intolerable to the high-spirited younger brother, 
and he had a sense of foreboding that this game held 
possibilities even more tragic than defeat. Joe was 
about to use this team of his as an instrument of per- 
sonal revenge, reckless of sportsmanship, bitterly de- 
termined to win at any cost. The twain avoided each 
other at the field. Bob discovered that a man might 
hate his own brother and wish him misfortune. 

Fred Varney intended to launch a tremendous at- 
tack at the outset and demoralize the brawny oppo- 
nents before their own scoring machine could be set 
in motion. No sooner, therefore, did Yale gain the 
ball after the kick-off than her heaviest backs plunged 
and tore into the line behind hurtling interference. 
They gained a little distance, and then opened for a 
combined shift and double pass which had been re- 
hearsed in secret practice. The runner had no more 
than started, however, when he was tackled and thrown 
back for a considerable loss. The Bittinger men ap- 
peared to know what he was about to do, and they 
drove at him as soon as the Yale quarter-back had 
70 


FOLLOW THE BALL 


shouted the signal. Again and again Varney tried to 
outwit them, but every attempt was futile. Before 
he could change tactics to meet this shrewd enemy, 
Yale was compelled to punt. 

Now it was disclosed that Joe Sedgwick was some- 
thing more than a cunning trickster. His pupils dis- 
played an attack original, versatile, disconcerting, in 
which they were perfectly schooled. It was so diffi- 
cult to solve and check that Yale was forced to retreat 
nearer and nearer her own goal. Precisely at the right 
moment a slim full-back swung his toe, there was a 
roar of joy from the Bittinger onlookers, and the ball 
soared clear of the ruck to carry its flight beyond the 
posts and fairly over them. A goal from the field 
and first blood for the invaders ! Joe Sedgwick lighted 
a cigar, and laughed heartily. The demeanor of the 
Yale coaches was most amusing to him. They were 
far from happy. 

Varney tried no more elaborate football. It was 
to be straight and simple, hammer and tongs, and his 
fighting spirit was in his team. Bittinger was undis- 
mayed. The rougher the game the better they liked 
it. As Bob Sedgwick lunged forward to grip a runner 
by the knees, the toe of a cleated shoe caught him 
fairly in the face. Dazed, bleeding, he picked himself 
up and staggered to one side. Varney ran up to ask: 

“How bad is it? Shall I send in another man?” 

“And let my brother think I quit for a mere scratch 
like this?” panted the Sophomore. “I can go the 
route. Some rough-house, this!” 

71 


SONS OF ELI 


“I have played against gentler teams,” rasped the 
captain. “ Stand up to them. Follow the ball.” 

A few minutes later, Varney was holding a hand to 
his side. Two Bittinger men had jumped on him, 
unobserved by the officials, and a rib was cracked, 
but he waved the trainer away. He was in the game 
to stay, unless lugged off feet first, as so earnestly 
desired by Joseph Sedgwick, esquire. Through two 
full periods the issue swung back and forth like a 
stormy tide, and Yale was still unable to score. Then 
Bob Sedgwick, more severely jarred by the blow in 
the face than he realized, failed to hold his man, and 
Bittinger stampeded through for a clean ten yards. 
The left guard had become the weak link of the chain 
and Joe Sedgwick’s quarter-back was quick to take 
advantage of it. Twice, thrice, with no intervals for 
signals, as fast as the men could scramble into posi- 
tion, they slammed through and over poor Bob, bat- 
tering him breathless, breaking his heart that he should 
be the one to give way. 

As soon as possible Varney ordered him to quit, 
and shoved in a substitute, but the damage had been 
wrought, and once more the deadly Bittinger full-back 
was within range of the Yale goal posts for a drop- 
kick. Graceful and easy was his poise, for all the 
world like Joe Sedgwick, as he stood with outstretched 
hands awaiting the ball, and with every bit of Joe’s 
accuracy he lifted it to score the winning points. In 
this manner was the game ended, Yale beaten, unable 
to avert a dose of whitewash, humiliated by a college 
72 


FOLLOW THE BALL 


hitherto despised, and Joe Sedgwick had squared the 
account. One or two of the New Haven coaches con- 
gratulated him in manly fashion, but accused his team 
of rough play. 

“ Rough?” he replied, with a sneer. “ Whine be- 
cause you were licked, eh? Can’t stand the gaff? 
My boys don’t pretend to be ladylike, but they have 
forgotten more real football than your mollycoddles 
ever learned from you.” 

At supper Bob Sedgwick felt ashamed to face his 
comrades, blaming himself for the disaster. They 
were in low spirits, but had no word of criticism or 
reproof for him. Fred Varney glowered at his plate 
and spoke to no one during the meal. A cracked rib 
did not appear to discommode him. From this funereal 
atmosphere Bob fled to his room, leaving the others 
to discuss the catastrophe. Dropping into a chair be- 
side the fireplace, he sat with his head in his hands, 
and concluded that his college career had been smashed. 
Had it not been for that last drop-kick Yale might 
have pulled herself together to hammer out a touch- 
down and avert defeat. 

It was in this disconsolate mood that Joe Sedgwick 
found his younger brother when he entered without 
knocking. Bob scowled and failed to rise. If Joe had 
any tact or decency he would have kept out of the 
way. No visitor could have been more unwelcome. 
The prodigal affected not to notice the ungracious re- 
ception, and jovially exclaimed: 

“It had to be done, kid, just to show them. Sorry 
73 


SONS OF ELI 


you were on the list of victims. Mussed up your face 
and spoiled your beauty? Never mind. The girls 
like that sort of thing.” 

The raw flippancy of this so exasperated Bob that 
he burst out: “I was deliberately kicked in the face, 
and you coached the man that did it to play dirty 
football. I have finished with you, Joe, like the rest 
of the family. No wonder they disowned you.” 

“I must make allowance for your state of mind,” 
said Joe, with a frown. “Tell me, what did you 
think of my outfit? Class to it? Any excuses to 
offer?” 

“Not a darned one ! ” growled Bob, touching the livid 
bruise on his cheek. “You are a wonderful coach, 
Joe; so good that you didn’t have to resort to that 
rough stuff to win. That is the pity of it. It was 
contemptible. Doesn’t it hurt to have Yale men call 
you low and rotten?” 

“Not a little bit, boy,” but Joe winced as he spoke. 
“I cleaned up this afternoon — two years more at Bit- 
tinger at four thousand per, and plenty of time for 
loafing.” 

“Nonsense! Bittinger must be football mad!” 
cried Bob. “Four thousand dollars!” 

“Beyond a doubt. I called in to give you the hun- 
dred, as I promised to do.” 

The door opened as Joe said this; it hung ajar for 
a moment, and the lean figure of Fred Varney was 
disclosed. The others failed to perceive him as he 
hesitated while Joe extracted a roll of money from his 
74 


FOLLOW THE BALL 


waistcoat pocket and tossed several bills on the table. 
Bob glanced at them, and remarked: 

“ Thank you. A hundred is correct. You were as 
good as your word.” 

Varney walked in, greeted Joe with a dour nod, 
and addressed himself to the Sophomore: 

“The coaches are anxious to meet all the men to- 
night at my rooms — eight thirty. Be there, sure.” 

Joe tarried no longer, but bade Varney farewell 
with mocking deference, and grasped his brother’s 
hand, telling him: 

“The last time I am likely to afflict you, kid. I 
wish we might hit it off, but that is impossible, so we 
had better steer separate courses.” 

He tramped down-stairs, while Fred Varney stood 
gazing at the money on the table, and then his sombre 
eyes, prematurely cynical, regarded young Bob, who 
dreaded some slurring reference to the game. The 
captain appeared to find conversation more difficult 
even than usual, but he lingered, nevertheless, and said 
at length: 

“I don’t like the looks of this, Sedgwick. You will 
have to explain.” 

“Explain what?” demanded the puzzled Bob. 

“That brother of yours hasn’t a straight hair in his 
head. I hope to God you are different. . I thought 
you were.” 

“What do you mean, Fred?” 

“Joe Sedgwick knew our plays- and signals in ad- 
vance,” coldly spoke the captain. “How did he get 
75 


SONS OF ELI 


the information? None of his scouts sneaked in on 
us during secret practice, I’m sure of that. Did you 
tell him how to break up our formations?” 

Shocked beyond expression, Bob Sedgwick could 
only stare with open mouth. It was like a nightmare 
that he should be thus accused of black treason to his 
comrades and his college. Brutally deliberate, Var- 
ney proceeded to state the case as he saw it. 

“I walked in on you unexpectedly just now. Joe 
handed you a hundred dollars, as agreed, so you said. 
He was never known to pay his debts, so I suspect he 
gave you the money for value received. Also, you let 
Bittinger through the line this afternoon, and the re- 
sult was a second goal from the field.” 

“You think I did that purposely?” protested Bob, 
his voice shaking with emotion. 

“It didn’t occur to me then. I thought of it when 
I found you and your brother together. You told 
me you felt fit to play after you got that kick on the 
cheek.” 

“I — I was shaken up some, but I just couldn’t 
leave the field and let Joe suppose his men had knocked 
me out.” 

“You value his opinion more than I do,” said Var- 
ney. “It’s a pity you didn’t put your own team first. 
If you were really hurt and unable to play the posi- 
tion, why didn’t you tell me so?” 

“It was a mistake,” acknowledged Bob, his aspect 
bewildered and wrathful. “But you told me that you 
had a cracked rib. Were you fit to last through the 
76 


FOLLOW THE BALL 


game? Were you up to form? No, for you missed 
two or three tackles that I saw myself, and acted 
groggy through the last period of play.” 

“Perhaps that was a mistake on my part,” doggedly 
replied Varney. “It never entered my head to sup- 
pose you might have purposely laid down on your 
job until I found your rascal of a brother handing you 
money, a bundle of it.” 

“He paid back a loan for once,” vehemently 
asserted young Sedgwick. “Believe it or not! 
Just because he is a bad egg, does that condemn 
me?” 

“You were hatched in the same basket,” was the 
reply. 

“That’s enough,” cried Bob, losing control of him- 
self. “Joe was right when he called you a mucker, 
Fred Varney. No more Yale football for me as long 
as you have anything to do with it. You don’t realize 
what you have said to me. You never consider any- 
body’s feelings. Why, such a story as this may drive 
me out of college.” 

“I intend to keep it to myself,” the captain mut- 
tered, his accents a trifle less harsh. “And you have 
come pretty near convincing me that I may be wrong. 
Better come to the meeting to-night and turn up for 
practice to-morrow.” 

“Never again, so help me!” passionately returned 
the left guard. “You had better get out of my room, 
or I’m liable to smash you over the head with a 
chair.” 


77 


SONS OF ELI 


Varney stood silent and awkward, as though he had 
not heard the threat. Then, with a sigh, he passed 
into the hall. 

When Sedgwick failed to report at the field next 
day, the campus demanded to know the reason why. 
His friends interviewed him in droves, and were the 
more excited when they learned that he had left the 
training-table. He was no diplomat to parry and 
evade the eager questions, and his face, troubled and 
forlorn, indicated that something serious had occurred. 
It was not difficult to conclude that there had been a 
quarrel with Fred Varney. When hard pressed for in- 
formation, Bob could not help admitting this much. 
The astute correspondent of a New York paper scented 
a football sensation, and subjected Bob to a searching 
cross-examination . 

The downcast athlete did everything but lie in his 
attempt to escape publicity, but when a young man 
is the soul of candor and wears his heart on his sleeve, 
a fairly intelligent reporter is apt to put two and two 
together and hit somewhere near the mark. It was 
therefore hinted in a carefully worded despatch that a 
scandal of a kind unprecedented in Yale football had 
caused a member of the team to resign. The Sopho- 
more class read between the lines and became zealous 
partisans of Bob Sedgwick, so zealous, in fact, that 
they marched to the field in a body and hissed Fred 
Varney when he appeared on the side-lines. This was 
also something new in Yale history, and it stirred up a 
tremendous amount of feeling. Varney was outwardly 
73 


FOLLOW THE BALL 


indifferent, but he was cut to the heart, and those who 
knew him best were aware of it. 

At Bittinger College, that rolling stone, Joe Sedg- 
wick, had found a scheme of existence that suited him 
perfectly. He was a personage, the idol of the pop- 
ulace, and his highly paid task was pure recreation. 
He forswore dissipation in order to set a proper ex- 
ample to his pupils, and had certain notions of remain- 
ing respectable. This enviable situation was dis- 
turbed when he chanced to discover upon a sporting 
page the story of a ruction at Yale, which he was led 
to assume concerned his younger brother. Joe read 
it most carefully, and pondered for some time. The 
boy had been too proud to write him. Sandy kid ! 
It was fairly obvious. Varney had made a mess of 
it, as usual. 

“The sulky beggar looked as if he smelled a rat 
when I left him that night in Bob’s room,” said Mr. 
Sedgwick to himself. “He would suspect his own 
grandmother of stealing pennies.” 

There was only one thing to do, but Joe flinched, 
and could not face it. He was too essentially selfish 
to play the knight-errant on the spur of the moment, 
and family ties were no argument to move him. Bob 
had repudiated him, along with the others, and yet 
he was fond of the boy, had always been fond of him, 
and knew him to be clean and straight and brave. 
Joe Sedgwick was by birth and breeding a gentleman, 
and there was a code which he had once professed. 
He had discarded, but not forgotten it. Resurgent, 
79 


SONS OF ELI 


it clamored for recognition. For two days and nights 
he resisted, and the struggle was like a fit of illness. 

“Bob doesn't dream I would even think of such a 
thing,” he reflected. “That's a sad sort of a joke on 
me. I am a fool, no doubt of that, but I guess I'll 
have to see it through.” 

Sending no word to his brother, Joe set out for New 
Haven, and arrived in the morning. His first errand 
was to find the heavy-fisted foreman of the ditch, who 
had so summarily removed him from the pay-roll. 
The worthy man still swore at his Italian serfs in the 
enclosure beyond the varsity football-field, and he 
promptly identified Mr. Sedgwick, as requested. 

“Three days on your time-book,” said Joe, “and 
you can verify the date. It was before the Bittinger 
game.” 

“I have a record of your time, sorr,” was the re- 
spectful reply, “but would ye mind tellin' me if you 
fell heir to a fortune or married a rich widdy woman ? ” 

“I found a better job, Mr. O'Conner. Will you do 
me a favor this afternoon? Just step across the field 
yonder, when I come for you, and tell the captain of 
the team that I was with your gang.” 

“With pleasure, sorr, and may ye keep a strangle- 
holt on prosperity. Maybe I would not have currsed 
ye so hard had I knowed ye was doin' it on a bet.” 

Fred Varney was recuperating by the surgeon's 
orders, and when Joe found him he was sitting on a 
bench with one of the coaches, while the team romped 
through a signal drill. The prodigal gave them no 
80 


FOLLOW THE BALL 


opportunity to tell him that he was not wanted. 
O'Conner, the foreman, was at his elbow as he said 
to Varney, with an earnestness which fairly trans- 
figured him: 

“If this eleven of yours is to come through clean, 
you must publicly apologize to that kid brother of 
mine. I am here to do my share. The rest is up to 
you. I stole your formations, disguised as a laborer 
on the ditch. It was a trick wasted, for we outplayed 
you, but I'm the Johnny. How about it, Mr. O'Con- 
ner ?” 

“A cute wan ye were," heartily laughed the fore- 
man, now getting the drift of it. “Ye would loaf on 
your shovel and watch the boys at their sporrt until 
I yelled blue murder at ye." 

“ Shady business for a coach," said Varney, eying 
him sourly. “I'm not surprised, though." 

“Cut all that out!" sharply exclaimed Joe. “Your 
crime was worse than mine. Speak for yourself, if 
you are a man." 

“You bet I will be glad to apologize,” retorted Var- 
ney, and his eyes glowed with feeling. “I'm ashamed 
of myself, Sedgwick, and I don't care who knows it. 
Publicly? In print, do you mean?" 

“Yes. It's the only decent way. I propose to 
take a dose of that medicine to square matters for 
Bob. This miserable business is enough to ruin him 
unless it is denied and explained and retracted in every 
manner possible." 

One of the coaches, who had hovered within ear- 
81 


SONS OF ELI 


shot, stepped up to offer his hand to Sedgwick, the 
Yale outcast. The latter ignored this tribute of re- 
spect, laughed in his careless way, and turned his 
back to the coach, who exclaimed: 

“You don’t understand, old man. I realize what 
it means to you to have this statement of yours given 
to the newspapers. Bittinger College can’t afford to 
keep you. It means the loss of your position there.” 

“Because I played the spy and am ready to own 
up to it? Sneaked into the Yale field in overalls? 
Right you are. Even my friends at Bittinger will 
have to draw the line, when the fact is advertised. I 
wired my resignation this morning.” 

Three of his old comrades were pounding him on 
the back at once. This was the spirit of unselfish de- 
votion to duty, of self-sacrifice in another’s behalf, 
which they fondly believed that Yale and her tradi- 
tions stood for. Joe Sedgwick had come back to them. 
But he had been moved by no desire to redeem him- 
self in the sight of his old companions. His one 
thought was for the boy of his own blood who had 
suffered terribly and thought himself eternally dis- 
graced. Curtly thanking the group for their kindly 
interest in him, he walked rapidly from the field. 

The younger Sedgwick was sauntering alone across 
the campus when Joe overtook him and said: 

“The bad penny turns up again. I think you had 
better go back to the training-table to-night, kid. 
Varney is anxious to see you. You will find him al- 
most human.” 


82 


FOLLOW THE BALL 


“But, Joe, I am eternally queered,” faltered Bob, 
unable to fathom this sudden twist of events. “Have 
you been trying to pull me out of a hole?” 

“It is all done. Nothing more to it,” cheerily re- 
plied the ne’er-do-well. “I am quite properly the 
goat, and have confessed as much. Please don’t thank 
me. No bouquets. Now run along and be happy. 
A man can be a Sophomore only once.” 

The youngster was eager for information, but Joe 
laughed at the excited questions, and answered: 

“Read it all in to-morrow’s papers, son. Inciden- 
tally, mail will no longer reach me in care of Bittinger 
College. Address uncertain hereafter, but I am on 
my way.” 

“As a result of what you have done to clear me, 
Joe? I can guess that much. Won’t you come home 
for Christmas? You know what this splendid stunt 
of yours will mean to the folks.” 

“Perhaps. At any rate, I’ll be glad to get an in- 
vitation. If I fail to show up, just remember the big- 
gest rule of the game, off the field as well as on, to fol- 
low the ball, and damn the odds.” 

Before Bob could detain him the prodigal son had 
walked away, jaunty and self-assured, and he was 
whistling softly: “Here’s to Good Old Yale.” 


83 


“SLEEPY” JORDAN 


He weighed two hundred and thirty pounds, and 
both shoulders scraped an ordinary doorway when he 
passed through. As for height, he regarded a six- 
footer as more or less of a runt. At meeting him in a 
dark alley, Hercules himself might have halted to 
reach for that famous knotted club and clear for ac- 
tion. A tremendous youth was Llewellyn Chalmers 
Jordan, and at first glimpse of him crossing the Yale 
campus the football captain had forgotten an important 
engagement with the dean and sprinted in pursuit of 
the prize. This interview was brief and unsatisfac- 
tory. Captain Fred Varney, a morose person of very 
few words, grasped the arm of the boyish colossus 
and exclaimed: 

“Freshmen squad reported yesterday. Where were 
you? Three o’clock this afternoon. Be there, sure. 
What prep school? Did you play?” 

Llewellyn Chalmers Jordan gazed down good- 
naturedly at the gaunt, almost insignificant figure of 
the greatest of end rushers, and answered, in a lazy, 
booming voice: 

“The masters made me play at school. I didn’t 
like it, and I guess I can get along without any foot- 
ball in college, thank you.” 

“Football doesn’t propose to get along without 
you,” growled Varney. “You look less clumsy than 
84 


“SLEEPY” JORDAN 


most of these great, big, overgrown infants. Aren’t 
you ashamed of yourself?” 

“Not a bit of it,” grinned the Freshman. “There 
is some distinction to it when a man of my size re- 
fuses to be all bunged up on a football-field.” 

This extraordinary sentiment so annoyed Mr. Var- 
ney, whose temper was by no means pacific, that he 
retorted: 

“Your class will disown you. I thought you were 
a man, you useless carload of blubber.” 

“You are keeping me from a recitation,” said Llew- 
ellyn Chalmers Jordan, still with the same vast amia- 
bility. 

As he spoke he put out a hand. It no more than 
touched Varney on the chest, and he sat down so 
abruptly that his teeth clicked and he bit his tongue. 
While he picked himself up from the turf the moun- 
tainous Freshman moved away in a leisurely manner, 
nor glanced behind him. Amazed anger hampered 
the active captain, who knew not quite how to re- 
taliate. He might tackle the offender by the knees 
and pull him down before punching him, or hastily 
search for a stepladder and climb within reach of the 
youngster’s jaw; but either procedure would be un- 
dignified in full sight of the campus. For once the 
melancholy Varney grinned, accepted the joke as on 
him, and concluded to become better acquainted with 
this singular Freshman. 

His parents had taken pains to fit him out with a 
name worthy of the family station, but his classmates 
8s 


SONS OF ELI 


promptly discarded it, and not as Llewellyn Chalmers 
was he known, but as “Sleepy Mike.” This he ac- 
cepted with philosophic affability, and the taunts in- 
spired by his total lack of athletic spirit failed to jar 
him. In other respects he was no laggard. His mind 
was both acute and retentive, although he seldom 
seemed to employ it in study. It made the hard- 
working scholars indignant when, at the end of the 
term, Sleepy Jordan received a higher rating and was 
considered a safe bet for the intellectual comradeship 
of Phi Beta Kappa. 

The Christmas vacation depopulated the campus, 
and among those westward bound were Captain Var- 
ney and the left guard of his eleven, Bob Sedgwick. 
They met in a train out of Chicago, and journeyed to- 
gether, friends again after the misunderstanding'during 
the football season. Varney was silent and gloomy as 
usual, but conversation was never expected of him; 
and Sedgwick, a sociable person, sought other diver- 
sion. Strolling into another car, he discovered the 
rosy giant who had scorned his duty to the gridiron. 
He sat alone and filled a seat, beaming, placid, no more 
than half-awake. As a Sophomore Sedgwick was pre- 
sumed to disdain the company of this somnolent Jor- 
dan, but the barrier of college caste was brushed aside 
for the sake of sociability. 

“Hello, little one!” was Bob’s greeting. “How far 
does this railroad have to carry you, and what is the 
tariff per ton per mile ? ” 

“I live in Denver,” courteously replied the Fresh- 
86 


“SLEEPY” JORDAN 


man, getting the better of a yawn. “I lost six pounds 
this fall. Don’t I look it?” 

“You have wasted away, I see, after examining you 
closely. What did it?” 

“Dancing. I like it. I went out quite a lot, met 
some stunning New Haven girls, and was invited to 
some fine parties.” 

Sedgwick looked incredulous, and seriously com- 
mented: “I did notice several girls on crutches out 
Whitney Avenue way, come to think of it. Do they 
make a noise when you step on their feet, or merely 
faint in their tracks?” 

This served to arouse Llewellyn Chalmers Jordan, 
who displayed signs of irritation as he retorted: 

“ Guy me as much as you like, but I am some dancer, 
and I wasn’t so unpopular with the ladies. Other 
couples usually give me plenty of room, and that 
helps.” 

“Fred Varney is in the next car,” said Sedgwick, 
with a chuckle. “Wffiy not have dinner with us? 
You have met him, I’m sure.” 

“Yes, but he has no use for me,” replied the Fresh- 
man, his face a vivid red. “I wouldn’t know what to 
say to him.” 

“That makes no difference. He is the original 
human clam. You needn’t feel obliged to waste lan- 
guage on him. He isn’t hostile, even if you did tip 
him off his pins with a gentle tap.” 

“How nice of him!” smiled Sleepy Jordan. “I 
was awfully sorry. He doesn’t weigh very much and 
87 


SONS OF ELI 


looks all shot to pieces. It’s a mystery to me how he 
can be such a terror in football clothes. Of course, I 
shall feel flattered to dine with him.” 

Bob Sedgwick strolled into his own car and broke 
the news to Varney, who was regarding the landscape 
with glum indifference. He grunted and was gracious 
enough to remark: 

“Not such a bad kid, though he ought to be booted 
all the way out to the Yale field and back again. 
They tell me there are no cobwebs in his attic. His 
professors think him a wonder. We can get on to- 
gether without fighting, unless he playfully pushes me 
through a dining-car window, glass and all.” 

There was no discord at the table, and Varney even 
thawed a trifle. The mighty Freshman appealed to his 
sardonic sense of humor. He was so essentially a 
jovial boy, filled with tremendous enthusiasms in spite 
of his lazy demeanor, laughing at his own jokes, ludi- 
crously in awe of Varney’s opinions as coming from the 
greatest man in college. He was patterned after Bob 
Sedgwick’s own heart, and these two were famously 
congenial. The evening passed without boredom, and 
it was agreed to meet for breakfast. 

It was during this latter meal that the train made a 
long halt at an unimportant station, and the passengers 
became curious to know what should cause this delay 
to the Golden Gate Limited. The conductor was 
heard to say something about a washout and a dam- 
aged bridge. Bob Sedgwick and Varney went out to 
interview the station agent, leaving the Freshman to 
88 


“SLEEPY” JORDAN 


demand more breakfast in order to overtake an appe- 
tite which matched his size. 

It was presently announced that the train could not 
proceed until afternoon. A sudden flood had danger- 
ously weakened a span of a steel bridge, and traffic 
was blockaded while the construction crews made tem- 
porary repairs. There was a deal of ill-natured sput- 
tering among the travellers, but young Sedgwick was 
undismayed. Wentworth, only twenty miles beyond, 
was his home town, and he proposed to waste no time 
in getting there. 

“I can find somebody with an automobile to make 
the run in an hour,” he said to Varney. “Why don’t 
you come along? Have luncheon at my house, in- 
spect the busy little burg, and jump on the train when 
it comes. My folks will be delighted.” 

“Heaping coals of fire on my head, aren’t you?” re- 
plied the football captain, recalling the quarrel in which 
he had been wholly wrong. “Thanks. It will be 
stupid waiting all day at this jumping-off place.” 

“Good enough! You go fetch our bags, and I will 
hustle the transportation, and telephone home that 
we are on our way.” 

Sedgwick dashed into the highway and comman- 
deered a farmer who was driving past in a noisy, mud- 
covered relic of an earlier age of gasolene. There was 
no haggling over terms, and the enterprising Sophomore 
galloped back to the train, meeting Varney, who 
said: 

“Better bid the big Jordan child good-by. Lone- 
89 


SONS OF ELI 

some for him, but perhaps he can amuse himself by 
eating all day.” 

‘Til ask him to join us, if you don’t mind,” sug- 
gested the warm-hearted Sedgwick. “It does seem 
unkind to desert him. I may have to buy the farmer 
a new set of springs for his car, but what’s the odds?” 

“Are you sure your family can feed him?” was 
Varney’s gloomy comment. “I saw him devour six 
boiled eggs this morning, and he was merely warming 
up.” 

Sedgwick assumed the risk, and ran in to get Sleepy 
Mike, who wore, for once, a disconsolate air at seeing 
his Yale friends preparing to desert him. With glad- 
ness he accepted the invitation, and soon they were 
bumping over a frozen country road that was no more 
than lightly covered with snow. It was the holiday 
season, and their spirits were gay, Jordan rolling out 
song in what was meant to be a sonorous bass voice, 
his mighty shoulders heaving with innocent mirth 
whenever Sedgwick recalled another story. These 
two were in the mood for mischief, and the oppor- 
tunity offered as the car rattled safely into the trim 
little city of Wentworth and sought a long street of 
uncommonly attractive houses. 

A girl was about to cross in front of them, and she 
waited when the farmer tooted his warning horn. 
Now, a girl in furs on a wintry day, with a fine color, 
bright eyes, and a slim, straight figure is not apt to 
pass unperceived by three young men of impressiona- 
ble years. 


90 


“SLEEPY” JORDAN 

“A pippin, believe me!” softly murmured Mr. 
Jordan. 

“My cousin,” shouted Robert Sedgwick, waving his 
hat. “Stop the machine! Hello, Kitty! Here, fel- 
lows, we’ll get out and walk. It’s only another block.” 

“I wish it was another mile, for the walking looks 
awfully good to me,” observed the admiring Freshman. 

They tumbled out forthwith and surrounded the 
fascinating cousin, who seemed not in the least dis- 
mayed. Bob presented his friends, indicating them 
with a careless sweep of the hand so that it was puz- 
zling to guess which one was which. 

“Miss Lombard, this is none other than Mr. Fred 
Varney, captain of the Yale varsity eleven; and here 
is a meek and lowly Freshman, officially designated as 
Mr. Llewellyn Chalmers Jordan. They are sojourning 
in our midst for a few hours only. Therefore we must 
hasten to give them a good time.” 

Miss Kitty surveyed the brace of strangers and in- 
stantly concluded that the rosy giant must, of course, 
be the famous athlete. She was a thoroughgoing 
Western girl to whom the colleges of the Atlantic sea- 
board were remote and uninteresting, barring the fact 
that Bob Sedgwick and his elder brother Joe had 
chosen to go to Yale. Her own home was in Iowa, 
and she visited the Sedgwicks once or twice a year. 
Newspaper portraits of Fred Varney had failed to en- 
gage her memory. Her mistake was not an unreason- 
able one. 

Approvingly she eyed the magnificent proportions 
91 


SONS OF ELI 


of Llewellyn Chalmers Jordan, and swiftly pictured 
him to herself as sweeping through the Harvard and 
Princeton teams like the behemoth of Holy Writ, in- 
vincible, destructive. No more than a casual glance 
did she bestow upon Bob’s other friend, the thin, 
stooping young man with the pale face and melan- 
choly expression. She knew the type, the intellectual 
scholar who habitually studied too hard and despised 
athletics, and aspired to be a valedictorian even if it 
wrecked his health. Neglecting him for the moment, 
Miss Katharine Lombard addressed herself to the 
titanic Freshman, and her smile made an abject slave 
of him. 

“You are to be here only a few hours, Mr. Varney? 
I am so sorry. That doesn’t sound as if Bob were 
very hospitable. He really must persuade you to 
stay for the dance to-night, and ” 

Mr. Jordan was about to profess his identity, but 
Sedgwick trod on his toe, and Varney glowered at him, 
making pantomimic gestures unseen by the girl. The 
same inspiration had occurred to both these graceless 
young men, the one moved by a blithesome vision of 
a lark, the other willing and anxious to remain ob- 
scurely in the background. Girls frightened the other- 
wise indomitable football demon, and he could never 
talk at all to the disturbing creatures. Jordan com- 
prehended their wish that for the present he was not 
to correct Miss Kitty’s blunder. They could laugh 
about it later, and meanwhile it fell in with his irre- 
sponsible humor to play the harmless masquerader. 

92 


“SLEEPY” JORDAN 


The fair cousin walked ahead with the bogus Yale 
hero, and Bob whispered to Varney as they fol- 
lowed: 

“She is the busiest little tease you ever saw in your 
life. The way she used to guy me was cruel. This 
is my first chance to put one over on her.” 

“Sure it’s all right?” was the anxious query. “You 
will confess the joke before we leave town? What 
about meeting your folks? It won’t do to fool 
them.” 

“Leave it to me,” Bob easily assured him. “Til 
tip them off, and they will play it along at luncheon, 
especially dad. No doubt they will recognize you, 
but trust them to keep mum. Kitty is due to be paid 
in her own coin.” 

Somewhat mollified, the conscientious Varney con- 
sented to the hoax sooner than to have a disagreement 
with his host. He was a poor hand at a joke himself, 
life being too serious a matter, but he had no desire 
to interfere with the enjoyment of others, and Sedg- 
wick had accepted all responsibility. He sauntered 
along in his listless fashion, hands in his pockets, eyes 
downcast, finding nothing more to say. Miss Lom- 
bard, having catalogued him as a highbrow, surmised 
that he preferred company less frivolous, and won- 
dered how her light-hearted Cousin Bob had happened 
to pick him out as a chum. Llewellyn Chalmers Jor- 
dan she found exceedingly easy to talk to. Football 
was the topic she naturally selected, and he was full 
of information that was modestly impersonal. Sedg- 
93 


SONS OF ELI 


wick grinned, and Varney scowled at hearing his glib 
flow of misinformation, for it was notorious that he 
had never once troubled himself to watch the Yale 
team at practice. 

“ Please tell me, Mr. Varney,” said Katharine, gaz- 
ing up past the jutting shoulder of her companion, 
“do you honestly believe that your eleven could have 
beaten one of our crack Western universities — Mich- 
igan, for instance ?” 

“It would have been a great contest, in my opinion,” 
replied the unabashed pretender. “Michigan might 
have outclassed us in end rushers and made winning 
gains in that way. Our left end was weak this 
year,” 

This being Fred Varney’s position, in which for two 
seasons he had been ranked as the best in the coun- 
try, he was a listener who almost lost his temper; 
but Sedgwick smothered a laugh and restrained him 
from violence. They turned in at a gate and crossed 
a lawn and Bob ran straight into his waiting mother’s 
arms. The father, no less eager, but more sedate, 
came forward to welcome his younger son, and during 
the glad confusion the word was passed that the pro- 
gramme included having fun with Kitty. With ready 
wit and tact, the parents joined the conspiracy and 
greeted the brace of college friends as directed. 

The situation held no complications until the party 
had finished luncheon, during which the counterfeit 
athlete had displayed an absorbed devotion to the 
piquant Katharine. When a youth of the bulk of 
94 


“SLEEPY” JORDAN 


Llewellyn Chalmers Jordan becomes a victim of sen- 
timental emotion, he has the cubic capacity to con- 
tain a great deal of the same. He managed to draw 
Bob Sedgwick into a corner and huskily confide: 

“About that dance, to-night, old man. Your cousin 
wants to know why I can’t stay over for it. I could 
just as well as not, you know, and beat it for Denver 
to-morrow. There is a hotel in town, I presume, 
and ” 

“Nonsense! There is plenty of room in this house 
even for you — er — Captain Varney. Mother will be 
delighted. And I’ll try to persuade Fred — I mean 
Sleepy Jordan — to stick with us, although he is none 
too strong on the society game.” 

The large Freshman displayed genuine distress as he 
rubbed his chin, fidgeted, and protested: 

“Please don’t call me Varney again. We shall have 
to tell our real names. I can’t go to this dance under 
false colors and meet a lot of people. It would be 
carrying the merry jest entirely too far, and — and it’s 
rough on Miss Lombard.” 

“ Ah, I see,” politely replied Sedgwick, with a wicked 
little smile. “You would rather have her know you 
as your true self. I respect your honorable scruples, 
but ” 

“But what?” was the anxious query, for the Fresh- 
man caught a hint of trouble. 

“Supposing Fred Varney objects to giving the joke 
away. Here he comes. Let’s consult him.” 

The taciturn football-player had joined Miss Kitty 
95 


SONS OF ELI 


of his own free will, and appeared to enjoy the privilege. 
To his waiting friends he announced, with unwonted 
animation: 

“Miss Lombard suggested going to the dance to- 
night, and I have a notion of staying over for it.” 

“Bully for you!” cried Bob. “It will make a dis- 
tinct hit. You will drop the disguise, of course.” 

“Not on your life!” was Varney’s emphatic rejoin- 
der, at which the Freshman opened his eyes very wide. 
“Here is where I expect to enjoy myself for once, and 
dodge all the everlasting chatter about football.” 

“But I can’t stand for that, really,” exclaimed 
Llewellyn Chalmers Jordan, obviously woebegone. 
“It will never do, Mr. Varney. Miss Lombard would 
never forgive me, and I wish very much to keep her 
respect.” 

“Your best scheme is to write and explain it to her 
at long range,” advised Sedgwick. “Tell her you were 
coerced. You are to attend the dance as the captain 
of the Yale eleven, understand?” 

“What if I do as I please?” the Freshman stub- 
bornly ventured. 

“I will refuse to back you up,” Varney put in. 
“Sedgwick’s mother and father have another engage- 
ment for the evening. Nobody else is wise to the 
joke. If Bob and I insist that you are the real thing 
and are denying it because of your well-known mod- 
esty, then where do you get off?” 

“Confound it, you are a heartless pair of brutes! 
I believe you enjoy putting me in a hole,” rumbled 

96 


“SLEEPY” JORDAN 


the victim. “May I have your permission to own 
up to Miss Lombard after the dance?” 

“Certainly,” Varney agreed. “All I want is a 
chance for a pleasant evening and nobody to pester 
me.” 

The Freshman could not be downhearted for long, 
and it was his blissful fortune to walk to the club in 
the evening with Miss Kitty and engage no fewer 
than four dances with her. Two others she kindly 
reserved for that shy and inconspicuous scholar, Fred 
Varney, who sat and gazed at her most of the time. 
For the mighty yet nimble-footed Freshman, the com- 
edy suddenly assumed a serious aspect when he was 
introduced to a muscular, enthusiastic young man 
named Macgregor, who exclaimed, as they shook hands: 

“I am the captain of the Wentworth Athletic Asso- 
ciation team, and we play our annual game with the 
eleven from Statesville to-morrow — the rival city 
across the river. Bob Sedgwick has agreed to play 
guard for us, and he thinks you can be persuaded to 
join our rush-line for the fun of the thing. You can 
run through the signals with us in the morning.” 

“I wish I could, but — but I have to leave town,” 
stammered the hapless giant, as Sedgwick and 
Varney sauntered up. They uttered no threats, but 
their stern faces expressed a direful purpose. Sleepy 
Jordan gulped and looked at them appealingly. It was 
obvious that they intended to throw him to the lions. 
This misguided Macgregor person had made it more 
difficult than ever to declare himself an impostor. 

97 


SONS OF ELI 


“ Certainly he will play on your team, Mac,” 
smoothly asserted Sedgwick. “He would rather line 
up with that scrappy outfit of yours than to eat a 
square meal. I’ll guarantee that he shows up in his 
regular position.” 

At his wits’ end, the victim called Varney aside to 
beg for mercy, but the latter cruelly declared: 

“This is too good. I’d be ashamed to spoil it. Go 
the route, you poor boob, or I’ll tell this story all over 
New Haven.” 

“But it means murder,” sighed Llewellyn Chalmers 
Jordan. “I am in no condition to play football, and 
I’ve forgotten all I ever knew about the infernal game.” 

“Those lads play for blood, so Bob tells me. The 
two towns hate each other like poison. In comparison 
a Yale-Harvard game is as mild as sewing shirts for 
soldiers. There is no escape for you, kid. Miss Lom- 
bard will be there to cheer you.” 

The Freshman groaned, and realized that he was in 
the hands of the enemy. Fred Varney had found a 
chance to square accounts for that interview on the 
campus, when he had sat down so abruptly. It would 
be impossible to flee the town by night, for doubtless 
these two unfeeling conspirators would take turns 
guarding the hapless Freshman. He was trapped, the 
alternative of denying to the odious Macgregor that 
he was the famous Yale athlete seeming impossible. 
He moved heavily away to claim a dance with Kitty 
Lombard, who was all elation at the news that he had 
consented to display his prowess on the morrow. His 
98 


“SLEEPY” JORDAN 


laugh was hollow, his manner absent, and his course 
around the floor so reckless that Bob suggested equip- 
ping him with fenders and a gong. 

“He refused to go out to the Yale field when I asked 
him,” murmured Fred Varney. “He jeered at foot- 
ball. This is poetic justice. It is to grin !” 

It was Sedgwick, up bright and early next morning, 
who rummaged through the lockers in the club-house 
basement and purloined the largest pair of football 
breeches, which he conveyed to a tailor with instruc- 
tions to make them at least a yard larger all round, 
and do the job in a hurry. He met his friends at 
breakfast, and was grieved to note that the doomed 
Freshman no more than pecked at his food, and be- 
haved like a man in a trance. 

“He is usually like that just before a game,” Varney 
informed Kitty Lombard. “He takes it so seriously. 
Football is a sort of religion with him.” 

“It seems rather foolish to you, no doubt,” she re- 
plied. “You are such a contrast, but I am sure your 
scholarly ambitions are more worth while.” 

It was an informal holiday in Wentworth, which 
stood ready to shout for Macgregor’s team, and to 
bet Statesville to a standstill. Most of the stores were 
closed at noon, and hundreds of people motored in 
from the surrounding country. The scene suggested 
a college contest when the rival elevens scampered 
across the open field and began to punt the ball about 
in preliminary practice. The chief sensation was the 
presence of the huge Wentworth right guard in a tight 
99 


SONS OF ELI 


blue jersey, and the biggest moleskin breeches ever 
beheld. The tidings that the Yale captain had been 
induced to play for the love of the game aroused jealous 
indignation among the Statesville partisans, and they 
loudly urged their champions to send him back East 
on a stretcher. 

Fred Varney was with Katharine Lombard, and she 
found him slightly distraught, a mood which she mis- 
took for lack of interest in a pastime so boisterous and 
lowbrowed. He was really reflecting that the joke 
had taken a turn rather unfair to Macgregor and his 
comrades. To foist the useless Sleepy Jordan on them 
as a real football player seemed hardly sportsmanlike, 
a feature of the situation which had not occurred to 
Varney until now. He felt uncomfortable, and silently 
hoped that Wentworth might win. 

To Varney’s amazement, the "impossible Freshman 
sailed in to show the crowd that he was indeed a ter- 
rible right guard from Yale. His frame of mind was 
that of sheer desperation, for one thing, and he swore 
that he should not be made ridiculous in the sight of 
Kitty Lombard. As another favoring factor, the 
Statesville team was more or less afraid of his size 
and reputation, and he affected their nerves. To see 
him thrashing about in the rush line, or falling on top 
of an opponent was a spectacle to make a strong man 
tremble for his own life. And as he plunged to and 
fro, he bellowed ferociously, exhorting his mates and 
jeering the rivals. Bob Sedgwick, playing his own 
position with alert efficiency, tried to restrain this 


IOO 


“SLEEPY” JORDAN 

whale among the minnows, advising him, after a scrim- 
mage: 

“You are surely throwing a scare into them, even 
if you do get every signal wrong. But for goodness’ 
sake slow up and save your wind.” 

“Darned if I’ll let you and Varney make a monkey 
of me,” panted the plucky pretender. “I smeared the 
Statesville centre rush in the eye because he kicked 
my shins. And I’m liable to smear you if you laugh 
at me.” 

The Wentworth line was weak, and Macgregor was 
depending on his two Yale recruits for most of the hard 
work. For a time the defense held firm, but Sleepy 
Jordan could not stand the pace. He staggered in- 
stead of trotting into position. His complexion turned 
from red to purple. He puffed like an engine exhaust. 
His exertions, no longer prodigious, became so en- 
feebled that the foemen ceased to fear him. Mac- 
gregor was too courteous to suggest that a substitute 
relieve him, even when the tide of battle surged against 
the Wentworth eleven. They had expected such tre- 
mendous deeds of the New Haven hero that his col- 
lapse dismayed and disorganized them. Statesville 
seized the opportunity and smashed down the field 
for a touch-down. 

Llewellyn Chalmers Jordan was no longer an ad- 
versary. He was merely an obstacle to be hauled to 
one side or crawled over. The spirit was still willing, 
but the flesh was wofully weak. Kitty Lombard was 
sadly perplexed. Ardently loyal, it was a real afflic- 

XOI 


SONS OF ELI 


tion to see defeat so imminent. At her side sat Fred 
Varney, pale, gloomy,, his shoulders hunched over, 
displaying no emotion. Kitty was vexed with him. 
He was a poor shrimp of a bookworm, thought she, 
to be so indifferent when his own friends were suffer- 
ing disaster. 

“ Aren’t you the least little bit interested and sorry ? ” 
she cried impatiently, wringing her hands. “ Oh, there 
they go again, right through our centre and straight 
down the field ! What can be the matter with Captain 
Varney? Is it lack of training?” 

“ Mostly. He ought to have been kept out of the 
game,” answered her callous companion. “You are 
right, Miss Lombard; perhaps I ought to show more 
interest. If you will excuse me, I’ll see you later.” 

He raised his hat and walked in the direction of the 
small club-house where the players changed their 
clothes. Kitty assumed that he had taken offense at 
her attitude, and was deliberately leaving the field 
before the game was over. She put him out of her 
mind and decided to scold Bob for bringing him home 
at all. A few minutes later a lean, loose-jointed young 
man came trotting to the side-line. He had hastily 
donned such old clothes as he could lay hands on, 
and they were patched and torn and muddied. Grim 
was his face, his sombre eyes aglow, his manner as 
keen as it had been indifferent hitherto. He suggested 
a thoroughbred hound trailing a warm scent. 

He beckoned the weary Macgregor, who stared with 
blank incredulity, gesticulated, called Bob Sedgwick 


102 


“SLEEPY” JORDAN 


over by way of confirmation, and then grinned ecstati- 
cally. Varney said something more, and Macgregor 
called one of his half-backs out of the game. An end 
rush by training, the lank Yale captain preferred to 
make his stand behind the line in this crisis. Sleepy 
Jordan comprehended what was about to occur, and 
yelled for joy, unselfishly forgetting his own sorry 
plight and exposure. Varney waved him back into 
the game, gruffly explaining: 

“You have done your level best, kid. Stay with it, 
and get your second wind. You deserve to be in at 
the finish.” 

Macgregor summoned his men, who stood in a group 
surrounding the genuine Varney. He wasted no time 
in apologies for deceiving them, but told them what 
to do, biting off the words, sure of himself, a fit com- 
mander for a forlorn hope. They listened respectfully, 
his grim spirit infusing them with confidence renewed. 
The insignificance of his appearance was overlooked. 
They felt compelled to believe that he was the man 
for the emergency. 

The battered players returned to the fray in a 
dangerous mood, and the opponents were fairly taken 
by surprise. They could not understand the change 
of tactics and the new leadership. It was Went- 
worth’s ball in the middle of the field, and Varney 
took it on a short pass, with no more than a pretense 
of interference to help him get under way. Poor Jor- 
dan failed to block his man but Varney brushed past 
him, wriggled through the slight gap, tore himself free 
103 


SONS OF ELI 


from the hands that clutched him, stumbled, regained 
his feet, broke clear, and ran ten yards before two 
backs pulled him down. 

He was up like a flash, ready for the next assault, 
and again he went straight at the line. The ragged 
offensive was of little aid, and he tore, head down, 
into the thick of the Statesville team, but managed to 
twist and slide and shove for another gain. Tireless, 
refusing to spare himself, he was up and at it again, 
this time to circle one end and cross the field in a long 
slant before he was stopped out of bounds. By now 
he had taken the measure of his opponents, and he 
growled a few words at Bob Sedgwick. The agile 
guard nodded, and at the next play ran from his posi- 
tion as the ball was passed and joined the fleet-footed 
Varney as he sped for the other end of the line. Down 
the field they raced, side by side, the brawny Sedgwick 
bowling over one tackier after another, shielding his 
comrade from attack in a beautiful exhibition of team- 
work, while the pursuit pounded vainly behind them. 
Ahead was clear sailing, but the sprinter of the States- 
ville team could do the hundred in even time, and Sedg- 
wick was unable to ward him off as he came flying 
up from the rear. A reckless dive, a grip that caught 
Varney’s ankle and failed to hold, and the Yale cap- 
tain sprawled his length. Sedgwick grasped his arm 
and towed him the last few yards across the goal-line 
for the touch-down that tied the score. 

As Varney limped back and stood waiting for the 
try at goal, Katharine Lombard recognized the trans- 
104 


“SLEEPY” JORDAN 


formed bookworm, but was unable to credit her eye- 
sight. There was no mistaking his face and figure, 
and she was conscious of a dizzy, bewildered sensation. 
The world had turned topsyturvy for the afternoon. 
Kitty was by no means a stupid girl, however, and 
after a little she read the answer to the riddle and 
most contritely said to herself: 

“And I was absolutely horrid to him. I can never, 
never meet him again. It is all Bob Sedgwick’s fault, 
and he will have to beg on his bended knees before I 
forgive him.” 

She lamented no more, for the game was on, and, 
leaning forward, breathless, with sparkling eyes, she 
watched Macgregor’s doughty clansmen rally about 
Fred Varney for the decisive effort. Statesville took 
the ball and smashed ahead for short advances, which 
were stopped by tackling fierce and reckless. A fum- 
ble, the ball was visible for an instant as it bounded 
out of a confused mass of players, and Varney had 
scooped it up on the run. The distance to the enemy’s 
goal was no more than twenty yards. 

Llewellyn Chalmers Jordan, groggy, but still going 
through the motions, had charged forward because no- 
body thought it worth the trouble to stop him. His 
ponderous momentum carried him beyond the scrim- 
mage toward the Statesville goal, and he halted to dis- 
cover what had happened. Before he could turn and 
rejoin his comrades, Fred Varney came weaving and 
doubling through the broken field, the ball tucked 
under one arm. 

105 


SONS OF ELI 


The big Freshman uttered a roar and galloped madly 
on ahead of Varney in a frantic effort to clear the path. 
He had seen Bob Sedgwick act as a convoy and tried 
to imitate him, but his good intentions were disastrous. 
He managed to place himself squarely in the way of 
Varney, who banged into him head on, and caromed 
off as if he had collided with a brick wall. Both men 
fell down. The Statesville quarter-back dived at 
Varney and fairly pinned him to turf, but the ball 
popped out of the Yale man’s arms and rolled straight 
at the prostrate Jordan. Bob Sedgwick groaned, 
thinking it an accident. He had never before known 
Varney to lose the ball. 

Now the bungling Freshman was wholly disregarded 
and unmolested, and as he beheld the errant ball 
coming in his direction he sprawled toward it and 
grasped the slippery leather in his mighty palms. 
Then, hugging it to his breast, he rolled over and over 
toward the goal, perhaps a dozen feet distant. Two 
Statesville players toppled upon him, but he kept on 
rolling. It was like trying to check the progress of a 
steam road-machine. Now he uprose upon his knees 
and continued his slow but irresistible march. Won- 
derful to behold, he even staggered to his feet and the 
foemen seemed to be draped all over him, yet he con- 
tinued to move. 

Six feet from the line he toppled forward and mea- 
sured his length, which was enough and to spare. His 
fellow warriors danced for joy and pried loose the 
numerous opponents who had tried in vain to put the 
106 


“SLEEPY” JORDAN 


brakes on Llewellyn Chalmers Jordan. He was too 
far gone for speech, but his countenance was as jocund 
as a harvest-moon. Macgregor mopped him with a 
dripping sponge, while Bob Sedgwick was saying to 
Varney: 

“ Great luck ! Now everybody is happy. But how 
the deuce did you happen to let the ball bounce out 
of your arms?” 

“Don’t say a word to Jordan, but I wanted him to 
make that touch-down. I might have carried it over 
myself on the next try, but ” 

“But you preferred to let him have it?” said Bob. 
“Fine work! Mighty thoughtful of you. The kid 
tried to make good, and I admire his sand. And we 
did put over a pretty bum joke on him to-day.” 

The Freshman recovered sufficiently to walk from 
the field and receive the ovation that was due him as 
one of the heroes. No more was he a sorry jest, a 
butt for ridicule, and this was the greatest day of his 
life, for he had won the game for Wentworth and for 
the peerless Kitty Lombard. He gave all the credit 
to his Yale comrades twain, but Varney slapped him 
between the shoulders and exclaimed: 

“The laugh is on us, my son, for assuming that you 
knew no football. What about coming out to the 
Yale field next year?” 

“You can’t keep me away,” boomed Llewellyn 
Chalmers Jordan, intoxicated by the heady draught of 
success. 

“Is there any use of trying to explain it to Miss 
107 


SONS OF ELI 

Lombard ?” remarked Varney, with a gravely worried 
air. 

“Try it and see,” suggested Bob. “It is a safe bet 
that she feels none too easy in her own mind.” 

“Let me be the goat,” Jordan cheerfully volun- 
teered. “That is what Freshmen are made for.” 

Miss Katharine had prepared herself for the inter- 
view, and her poise was perfect as she congratulated 
the trio and sweetly exclaimed: 

“It would have spoiled it if I had told you that I 
really did know which was which when Bob intro- 
duced you.” 

They looked at each other rather blankly, and Bob 
murmured an opinion to the effect that keeping up 
with Kitty required a fellow who was quick on his feet. 
They had no desire to argue the matter with her, and 
Fred Varney, who appeared like one reprieved, boldly 
declared: 

“If there is to be another dance during the holi- 
days, I shouldn’t mind having an invitation. I live 
only a thousand miles from here. No trouble at all 
to run over to Wentworth.” 

“I intend to commute between here and Denver,” 
said the Freshman, going him one better. 

“It sounds to me, Kitty,” wisely observed her 
cousin Robert, “as though we might call it the most 
active football season that ever struck our town.” 


108 


THE LETTER OF THE LAW 


That stoical Yale athlete, Fred Varney, made few 
friends in college. He lived a life silent and apart, 
which seemed to concern itself with his fellows only 
when he flamed in a white heat of action on the foot- 
ball-field. Contrasts sometimes act like a magnet to 
draw men together, and it amused the campus when 
Varney was seen, rather frequently, in the company of 
the flightiest, most talkative youth of the junior class, 
Gordon Pilcher by name. He was more commonly 
known as “Windy Gus,” and it was seriously alleged 
that his conversation had been known to scatter the 
autumn leaves from the turf in front of his dormitory. 
His generous good nature made him popular, and he 
was in no sense a braggart. Life interested him tre- 
mendously, and he thought out loud. 

It became a habit of his to grasp Varney’s arm when 
they met, tow him along and conduct a monologue 
with the greatest gusto and animation, the melancholy 
football captain unable to interject more than a nod 
or an occasional word. Jerry Altemus, as an inter- 
ested spectator, was moved to inquire of the effer- 
vescent Gordon Pilcher: 

“What is the secret of your charm? Do you spiel 
language into his suffering ear until he is in a dazed, 
helpless condition, unable to escape? The rest of us 


SONS OF ELI 


sort of play up to Varney’s disposition — wait him out 
and give him a chance to utter his thoughts. He is 
worth listening to when he does uncork, but with you 
his only hope is the deaf-and-dumb alphabet. And 
yet he seems to like your chatter, Gus.” 

“All wrong, Jerry, you are all wrong,” was the 
smiling reply. “Fred and I discuss the darndest lot 
of things — current events; politics; why girls marry 
the wrong men; what’s the matter with Yale football; 
is a college education worth while; where the deuce do 
Harvard men get their accent; should compulsory 
chapel be abolished; and is an eight-cylinder car really 
any better than a good six? You fellows don’t know 
Varney. He’s mighty well informed, let me tell you.” 

“He agrees with you to save trouble, and you hear 
yourself run on, and assume it’s a dialogue,” was the 
comment of young Mr. Altemus. “Poor old Varney! 
He looks overtrained. And I heard him coughing 
yesterday. That comes from standing in a draught, 
no doubt.” 

“Meaning me?” cheerily observed Pilcher. “You 
are the sad little josher, aren’t you? On the level, 
Fred Varney has promised to spend part of the sum- 
mer vacation with me, at our place on Long Island. 
Does that sound as if I bored him to death?” 

“He’s an awfully queer chap, eccentric, you know,” 
said Jerry, shaking his head; “but I never knew him 
to do anything quite so odd as that. It makes me 
fear you have driven him daffy already.” 

“ Well, anyhow, I expect to give him a good time,” 


no 


THE LETTER OF THE LAW 


exclaimed Gus, “and maybe I can sweeten him up. 
He gets too much of this fake cynicism and imitation 
weary-man-of-the- world stuff that you hand out.” 

“A warm one, Gus. You hurt my feelings,” was 
Jerry’s farewell. 

“Pooh! You think too much of yourself to care if 
I call you names,” was the retort. “And you insult 
me every time we meet. See you later.” 

When college closed in June, Fred Varney waited 
for the Harvard boat-race, and then returned to New 
Haven for a night to help speed the departure of his 
helter-skelter host, Gordon Pilcher, who had made no 
preparations whatever. His rooms were in frightful 
confusion, trunk not yet packed, and Varney took 
command in his gruff, methodical manner. Suddenly 
Pilcher fished a telegram from his pocket, waved it 
carelessly, and explained: 

“Found this to-night. I wired home yesterday that 
I was bringing you, Fred — forgot to mention it in my 
letters. Not that it makes a bit of difference, but my 
dad shoots back word that a bunch of decorators are 
camped in the house, doing it over from cellar to gar- 
ret — the blackguards agreed to finish a month ago — 
my dad is a perfectly bully old sport, but peculiar, 
don’t you know — always tearing the house to pieces 
at short notice. The folks are starting off on a motor 
tour till the smoke clears ” 

“Don’t mind me. It’s all off,” interrupted Varney. 
“Do they want you to join them?” 

“Not a bit of it, my dear boy. You and I will live 


hi 


SONS OF ELI 


at the Green Valley Country Club. It is only two 
miles from our place; nice crowd of men, and lots 
going on, or you can be as quiet as you like. I’ll wire 
to reserve rooms.” 

Varney demurred, but it was explained to him that 
the Pilcher family used the club as a sort of emergency 
refuge, and frequently stayed there or found quarters 
for their guests when the house was crowded. This 
problem solved, the two young men went to New York, 
and next day arrived in that favored region of Long 
Island where people dwell on estates instead of farms, 
and servants are oftener seen in livery than in overalls. 
The country club was a low-roofed, rambling struc- 
ture, half-timbered in the old English style. 

Fred Varney soon discovered that the members dis- 
played a thoroughly American interest in the sport of 
baseball. Several of the younger set had been heroes 
of the college diamond, and their zest was unabated. 
They boasted of the prowess of the club nine in pre- 
vious summers, and were planning a campaign even 
more brilliant. 

“Too bad your specialty is football,” said Pilcher, 
as they strolled across the lawn. “You would enjoy 
playing with these chaps for the fun of the thing.” 

“I used to play, Gus. I held down second base for 
Andover two years, but cut it out at Yale. My 
health won’t stand hard training the whole year 
through.” 

“On the Andover nine? What do you know about 
that?” cried the enthusiastic friend. “You’re one of 
these natural athletes, eh? Wait till I tell the John- 


112 


THE LETTER OF THE LAW 


nies in the club-house. They 11 throw you into a uni- 
form to-morrow morning. The team is weak at sec- 
ond, they tell me. Did you swat the pill good and 
plenty? I’ll just bet you did.” 

“I didn’t fan out every time at bat,” modestly ob- 
served Varney. “I am rusty, of course, but I think 
I’d like to try a few innings. Golf is not my long suit, 
and I’m afraid of a horse.” 

Pilcher dragged him back to the piazza to meet the 
captain of the nine, a sunburned, affable young man 
who had been a famous pitcher at Princeton. 

“Here, Slocum, this is the great Fred Varney, the 
lad who twisted the tail of the Tiger last November. 
But there’s no hard feeling, is there? He is some 
baseball player, too, and I’ve persuaded him to help 
out that punk team of yours for a few weeks.” 

Mr. Slocum warmly expressed his gratitude and in- 
vited Varney to join the practice next morning. Se- 
cretly Windy Gus felt a certain relief. It had been in 
the nature of a feat to lure the unsociable Varney for 
a visit, besides “putting one over on Jerry Altemus,” 
but, once caught, the guest was not the easiest person 
in the world to entertain. He was sure to take this 
baseball proposition seriously, however, as he did 
everything else, and the amiable host would be free 
to frivol with the girls and golf to his heart’s content. 

Once in baseball clothes and spiked shoes, a wad 
of gum in his cheek, the feel of a mitt on his hand, 
Varney had no time for anything else. The old skill 
came back. He handled himself with that air of 
slouching deliberation which was so deceptive on the 


SONS OF ELI 


football-field, and the runner who tried to steal second 
on him was apt to be surprised. Always cool, cal- 
culating, unruffled, he steadied the nine and gave it 
some of his own fighting spirit. In the club-house he 
talked nothing but baseball, speaking briefly, with 
long intervals of silence, but whatever he said was re- 
ceived with the most respectful attention. 

When at bat, his morose, harsh features, set in an 
expression of inflexible determination, shook the nerve 
of the average amateur pitcher. He could not be 
tempted to swing at a wild one, but bided his time and 
picked a ball to his liking, slamming it as viciously as 
he tackled an opposing half-back. In a few days it 
was perceived that the Green Valley Country Club nine 
had been strengthened fifty per cent by the presence 
of this earnest young man from Yale. 

Windy Gus became absorbed in his own diversions. 
Everybody was happy, said he, so what was the differ- 
ence? For once he found himself unable to talk un- 
checked, for when he and Varney met at meals, the 
athlete was actually loquacious and growled his ideas 
of “ inside play” and the flaws in his team until Pil- 
cher was afraid to interrupt him. 

They had been at the club a fortnight when Varney 
received a letter from Jerry Altemus which caused him 
a certain uneasiness. It read, in part: 

... I saw your name in a paper yesterday, as playing with 
the Green Valley Club outfit. Professor Jim Haworth is visit- 
ing some people near us. As the faculty member of the Yale 
Athletic Advisory Board, he is the only man in the world who 
114 


THE LETTER OF THE LAW 


understands all the rules about summer baseball. Do you get 
me? I mentioned you in a casual way, and he suggested that 
I drop you a line just as a matter of precaution. It surely does 
sound like butting in, for me to advise as wise a guy as you, 
but Haworth says these eligibility restrictions are a Chinese 
puzzle, and you can’t play too safe. 

You are visiting Gus Pilcher, of course, but it’s wise to make 
sure that every other man on the team is an eighteen-carat 
amateur so you won’t be contaminated. And, for Heaven’s 
sake, don’t accept even a drink or a cigar from the Green Valley 
Country Club as such, or some snooping scout from another 
college will try to put the professional brand on you. I am 
just handing it to you as Haworth suggested. I imagine he 
thinks you may have been so wrapped up in football that per- 
haps you failed to keep up with all this nonsense about so- 
called summer baseball. Regards to Gus. Tell him to change 
the needle oftener if his voice shows signs of wear. . . . 

Fred Varney smiled at this mark of Jerry’s affection- 
ate solicitude, and considered the warning all moon- 
shine. He was not playing baseball for his board and 
lodging, and he felt convinced that the status of his 
comrades of the club team was beyond reproach. 
None of them had been recruited from elsewhere. 
They were either genuine summer residents in the 
club-house, or lived within motoring distance. A 
game was to be played that afternoon, and he decided 
to show the letter to Pilcher after dinner, when there 
would be leisure to discuss it. 

When Varney tried to find his friend, the irrespon- 
sible Gus was nowhere to be discovered. His room was 
even more disorderly than usual, and clothing was 

ns 


SONS OF ELI 


strewn about as if there had been a hasty choice and a 
swift exit. Somewhat puzzled, Varney went down- 
stairs and opened his mail-box. In it was a note, 
addressed with spluttering haste. The contents indi- 
cated that Mr. Gordon Pilcher was a creature of im- 
pulse. He explained as follows: 

Dear Old Fred: 

You will understand, I’m sure. Billy Featherstone called me 
up from New York just after you went to the game. He is 
sailing for Africa to-morrow to shoot lions and things, and the 
pal who was expected to go with him has had to call it off. 
Billy insisted that I go along as first substitute. I didn’t tell 
you, but my report from the dean’s office came yesterday, 
term stand and examination ratings, and I fail to connect. 
Flunked! Dropped from the class. What’s the use of going 
back to college? This African stunt will be a liberal education, 
what? 

I may seem rude, but you can have a good time without me. 
Stay as long as you like. In a great rush, with more apologies. 

The procedure seemed so characteristic that Varney 
was not really amazed. He was profoundly sorry that 
the college career of Windy Gus should have been cut 
short by ruthless edict of the dean’s office. The Pil- 
cher family, from father to son, was a bit difficult to 
keep up with. With a trace of peevishness, Varney 
said to himself: 

“I hope a lion chews him, not too deep, but enough 
to tame him just a few.” 

The deserted athlete drifted into the cafe and or- 
dered a lemonade, which he gloomily absorbed through 
116 


THE LETTER OF THE LAW 


a straw while considering the situation. He would 
have to pack up and leave the club, of course, and cut 
short his enjoyable baseball experience. It was out 
of the question for him to remain and charge his living 
expenses to a host whom he was no longer visiting. 
Any fellow with sense could see that, but what could 
you expect of Windy Gus? Calling his absent friend 
several hard names, Varney went to his room. 

When changing into his baseball uniform, early in 
the afternoon, he had left on a bureau his purse con- 
taining seventy dollars in bills. The sensational 
exodus of Gordon Pilcher had caused him to forget 
to put the purse in his pocket during a later trip up- 
stairs. Now he remembered it, but the money could 
not be found. The purse lay open and empty where 
he had left it. This was disturbing, on top of the 
other jarring event, and, in a sore mood, Varney hur- 
ried to the office to report his loss. 

The manager of the club-house, a suave, dapper 
person, appeared to have troubles of his own. He 
was engaged in excited discussion with two members 
of his staff, and others hovered within ear-shot. Var- 
ney waited with no great patience, and, at length, 
broke into the agitated conference. 

“I’ve been touched — seventy dollars’ worth. How 
about it? My room was unlocked, of course. It was 
done some time this afternoon.” 

The manager rubbed his hands together, and his 
pink features were profoundly distressed as he re- 
plied: 

117 


SONS OF ELI 


“I am very sorry to say, Mr. Varney, that you are 
not the only victim. Our chief clerk is missing, a 
young man who was most highly recommended. He 
has left his accounts in frightful shape. In fact, he 
destroyed some of the books and vouchers, or took 
them with him in order to cover up his thefts from the 
office. He made a final clean-up, I presume, and 
robbed your room. The police have been notified. ,, 

“I guess I may as well kiss my seventy dollars 
good-by,” said Varney. 

“By no means!” cried the manager; adding in 
tones more subdued: “It will be a favor if you will 
say nothing about the matter in the club. You will 
be reimbursed at once. This is not a hotel, you under- 
stand. The club is responsible for the safety and com- 
fort of its guests.” 

Varney thought this most courteous, and was about 
to voice his thanks, when he bethought himself of that 
warning letter from Jerry Altemus. Accept seventy 
dollars in cash from the Green Valley Country Club, 
and have the amount duly entered as paid to him? 
Not on your life, reflected the canny Varney. After 
he had played baseball for two weeks in a club uni- 
form? To the manager he briefly responded: 

“Thanks, but the loss was due to my own careless- 
ness. You needn’t trouble to make it good. Another 
thing, which is more important, I shall be leaving for 
New York to-night. I have been here as the personal 
guest of Mr. Gordon Pilcher. That is on record, I 
suppose. I mean you have memoranda to that effect ? ” 
118 


THE LETTER OF THE LAW 


Confusion made the manager pinker than before as 
he answered, in a highly nervous manner: 

“Mr. Pilcher signed the club checks, no doubt, and 
the items should be entered up, but this confounded 
rascal of a clerk has balled things up so frightfully — 
really, Mr. Varney, I am afraid I can’t straighten out 
Mr. Pilcher’s account at present. It makes no great 
difference, does it? To save annoyance, the club will 
assume this particular account and charge it off to 
profit and loss.” 

“My living expenses for two weeks will be paid by 
the Green Valley Country Club?” savagely demanded 
Mr. Frederick Varney, who looked as if he were about 
to climb over the desk and commit an assault. “ Noth- 
ing doing. The bill has got to be charged to Mr. 
Pilcher’s account somehow.” 

There was no apparent reason why this guest should 
become so irate, and the manager, who was in an un- 
happy frame of mind, and easily upset, showed signs 
of temper as he said: 

“I see no occasion for a row, Mr. Varney. I will 
take the matter up with Mr. Pilcher as soon as he 
returns.” 

“Then you have nothing to prove that he is re- 
sponsible for my stay at the club?” 

“Merely your own word, Mr. Varney. You were 
put up by Mr. Pilcher, who said something about 
charging your account to him just before he went away 
to-day. I took this to mean hereafter, during his 
absence.” 


SONS OF ELI 


“This is certainly a lovely kettle of fish,” murmured 
the athlete, turning away with a shrug. “Well, never 
mind. I can’t make this fat-headed club manager 
understand. He thinks I’m worrying about the high 
cost of living.” 

Retreating to the billiard-room, he sat hunched up 
in a leather-cushioned corner and reviewed the com- 
plications which seemed to beset his pure and unde- 
filed status as an amateur and a Yale football player. 
The rules were all rot, but there was no getting around 
them. The slightest slip and some lowbrowed sleuth 
from a rival college might dig up the evidence to dis- 
bar him from all connection with athletics at New 
Haven. The fact that his name had appeared in the 
newspapers as playing with this country-club nine 
during the summer vacation was enough to attract 
attention. 

The only proof to clear him of all doubt consisted 
of Windy Gus Pilcher, who had started hell-bent for 
Africa, without even leaving an address or the name 
of the steamer. There were no club vouchers to attest 
Varney’s innocence by means of the signature of young 
Mr. Pilcher. And the ass of a manager would no 
doubt inform any inquirer that Mr. Varney had 
been a guest of the club, in order to avoid explana- 
tions. 

“ I can afford to take no chances with this summer- 
baseball stuff,” soliloquized the victim of circumstances. 
“My game is to find the parents of Windy Gus, who 
are surely his legal and lawful representatives, and 


120 


THE LETTER OF THE LAW 


make them accept enough money to cover this little 
visit, and give me a receipt, duly sworn and witnessed. 
That blocks any attempt to put it up to the club.” 

He straightway got his things together, cashed a 
personal check for ready funds, and hired a man to 
drive him to the Pilcher estate, in search of informa- 
tion. The housekeeper, a woman of haughty pres- 
ence, was inclined to view the young man with sus- 
picion. Mr. Pilcher, senior, had told her where to 
forward telegrams and personal letters during his 
motor tour, but had said nothing about sending 
strange persons on his trail. Was it a business matter ? 
Then Mr. Varney should interview the superintendent 
of the estate, or Mr. Pilcher’s secretary at his office 
in New York. It was all very well for Mr. Varney 
to say that he was an intimate friend of Mr. Gordon 
Pilcher, but, for her part, she had never seen them 
together, and the family had been imposed upon more 
than once. 

Mr. Varney said nothing, but eyed her with a 
scrutiny so cold and unfaltering that she rang for the 
butler, feeling the need of his moral support. To this 
august personage the visitor spoke briefly: 

“Beat it to the ’phone, James, and ask the Country 
Club if I have been staying there for two weeks with 
young Mr. Pilcher. Give name and personal descrip- 
tion. Step along.” 

The butler drew himself to his full height, uttered 
an objection, and cut it quite short when Varney 
moved a trifle closer to him and scowled. Meek was 
121 


SONS OF ELI 

the demeanor of James when he returned from the hall 
and announced: 

“It is just as you say, sir. Under the circumstances 
I should advise Mrs. Botsford to inform you of the 
probable whereabouts of Mr. Briscoe Hopkins Pilcher 
and party.” 

The housekeeper thawed considerably and imparted 
that the route of the tourists included the Berkshires, 
the White Mountains, Montreal, and the New England 
coast. Varney jotted down the names of several 
hotels and the dates appended, and promptly withdrew, 
observing, as he fled: 

“A real touch of high life, that. It was a tempta- 
tion to punch James, just once for luck. Perhaps I 
ought to wait until these Pilcher people come home, 
but they may decide to chase out to the Rocky Moun- 
tains by way of Florida and the Great Lakes. It is a 
speedy family.” 

It was a week later when he intercepted the motor 
pilgrimage at Bar Harbor. The first glimpse of Mr. 
Briscoe Hopkins Pilcher suggested that he might have 
to be handled with care. He was a slender, gray- 
haired man, very erect, with a military air almost 
truculent. The chauffeur had committed some trifling 
fault, and his employer was rebuking him with a cut- 
ting sarcasm, and an indifference to his feelings that 
made the poor fellow flush and wince. Varney felt 
indignant, but his singular errand required tact, and 
he tried to forget his dislike of this domineering gen- 
tleman. 


122 


THE LETTER OF THE LAW 


Mr. Pilcher was condescendingly gracious when the 
young man introduced himself, and they drew their 
chairs to a window of the lounging-room. 

“But I thought you and Gordon were at the Green 
Valley Club together/’ said he. 

“Gus — I mean Gordon — went to Africa last week 
to shoot lions/’ was the reply. “Didn’t you know 
that?” 

“He forgot to mention it,” exclaimed the parent, 
in such an easy voice that Varney grinned. He had 
expected a tremendous explosion. Mr. Pilcher con- 
tinued by way of explanation: “We go our own sev- 
eral gaits. I am very strongly opposed to hampering 
individual expression. Besides, Gordon is twenty-one, 
and has money of his own, left him by his grandmother; 
quite a pot of it. But how can he return from Africa 
in time for the autumn term of college?” 

“He has been canned,” said Varney, seeing no 
reason why the truth should be evaded. “The faculty 
found fault with his scholarship, and it is all over 
with poor Windy — pardon me — with Gordon.” 

The explosion had been merely deferred. It went 
off with a resounding bang, and was aimed, not at the 
head of the luckless Gordon, but at the Yale faculty, 
which dared to discipline a Pilcher. 

“Dismissed him, do you mean to tell me?” cried 
the impetuous gentleman, eyes blazing, military mus- 
tache bristling, cane swishing through the air. “The 
boy has a brilliant mind, I tell you, and most uncom- 
mon powers of expression. He is a typical Pilcher. 

123 


SONS OF ELI 


He inherits these qualities. If Yale fails to appreciate 
him, so much the worse for Yale. I shall advise him 
to go to Harvard. First, however, I intend to inter- 
view these autocrats at New Haven, personally.” 

“Yes, sir,” said Varney, recalling certain interviews 
of his own with the dean, whose suave courtesy was 
the iron hand in the velvet glove. “I wish you luck, 
Mr. Pilcher. Indeed, Gordon is right there with the 
power of expression, at least forty horse-power. I 
came to see you on an errand which needs some ex- 
plaining. Gordon stepped out for Africa so suddenly 
that he left me rather up a tree. You see, he asked 
me down to visit him, but I have nothing to show for 
it that this was the arrangement, and I was unable to 
straighten it out with the manager of the Country 
Club, and ” 

Briscoe Hopkins Pilcher bounced from his chair, 
and, at this fancied provocation, he fairly detonated. 
Poor Varney was the target. The sire of Gordon had 
suddenly conceived a violent dislike for Yale Univer- 
sity and all men affiliated therewith. 

“And so you were afraid to trust my son to settle 
this miserable little club account at some future time?” 
he ejaculated. “Followed me clear to Bar Harbor 
to collect from me? Well, you are a thrifty youth. 
You ought to get on.” 

Varney kept his temper, and was more amused than 
hurt. It was a Pilcher trait to jump in and seize the 
wrong end of an argument through inability to sit 
still and hear the other fellow out. 


124 


THE LETTER OF THE LAW 


“The shoe is on the other foot,” patiently resumed 
the man from Yale. “I came all the way up here to 
ask you to take some of my money — two weeks’ board 
and incidentals at the club, and give me a written 
receipt for it. You see, sir, I am the captain of the 
Yale eleven, and the eligibility rules are so infernally 
fussy that ” 

Briscoe Hopkins Pilcher endeavored to restrain him- 
self, but this extraordinary young bounder was goad- 
ing him beyond endurance. 

“My son’s guest, and you insist on paying board, 
as you call it, to his father?” was the fiery reply. 
“You were invited to spend several weeks under my 
own roof, at my estate of Broad Acres. Would you 
have asked me to render a bill every Saturday night, 
and at what rate per day would you reckon it? Be- 
cause my house was in disorder, my son took you to 
his club. Why, of all the incredible insults to hos- 
pitality! What ails you? What possible connec- 
tion can this have with Yale football? I know noth- 
ing whatever about frenzied college athletics. They 
bore me. Eligibility rules, did you say? I am aware 
of only one code that concerns the eligibility of a 
gentleman.” 

This was going strong, and Varney flinched, but he 
was determined to dodge a quarrel. Father and son 
were delightfully preposterous. 

“Can’t you let it go as a whim of mine, and humor 
me, Mr. Pilcher? Call me a bit queer in the head, if 
you like. The easiest way to get rid of me is to let 


SONS OF ELI 


me hand you eighty dollars. All you have to do is 
acknowledge it in writing in behalf of Gordon Pilcher.” 

“And this is the sort of chum the boy acquired at 
Yale,” sadly murmured the other. 

“I can’t make it clear to you — about summer base- 
ball and so on,” persisted Varney. “I could have 
handed the eighty dollars to the club manager, but 
that might not have been a perfectly safe play. It’s a 
skittish business, this college professionalism.” 

“He violates every precept and instinct of hos- 
pitality, and attempts to force board money on me,” 
whispered Briscoe Hopkins Pilcher, who had pounced 
upon this one idea and was oblivious of all others. 
“ Good morning, Mr. Varney. I have an engagement.” 

Straight as a ramrod, ignoring the unhappy young 
man’s final plea, the parent of Windy Gus strode to the 
hotel desk, glanced over his shoulder, and signified 
that he was not to be molested again by the disagree- 
able young man in the gray clothes. It was not Fred 
Varney’s habit to retreat after one skirmish. His 
plight was ridiculous, but he had to go through with 
it. Later in the day he managed to waylay the wife 
of Briscoe Hopkins Pilcher. She was a somewhat 
timid, fragile woman, whose aspect suggested that she 
had suffered entirely too much from unhampered in- 
dividual expression in her own household. 

Five minutes convinced Varney that she possessed 
more intelligence and discernment than the boasted 
Pilcher stock. It was very refreshing to find some one 
willing to listen. The football captain’s grave strength 
126 


THE LETTER OF THE LAW 


of character attracted her at once. He was the best 
kind of friend for Gordon, whose father had come near 
spoiling him, said she to herself. 

“I am anxious to help you,” she cried, “but I have 
a scheme that is better than for me to interfere. My 
daughter Anna is a girl who decided that she must 
express herself in her own way. She has a studio in 
New York. Gordon and Anna share the fortune left 
them by my mother. The income is largely from un- 
divided real estate, so that, for convenience, Gordon 
has given Anna a power of attorney, and vice versa. 
Now, if she were to accept this bothersome eighty dol- 
lars from you, and receipt for it, the document would 
be valid even in court, as executed for Gordon. While 
he is in Africa, I imagine that Anna will attend to his 
business affairs, his bank-account, and so on, because 
she has the power of attorney.” 

“That pleases me, Mrs. Pilcher,” said the grateful 
Varney. “It sounds so satisfactory; not a blessed 
flaw in it. Armed with that document, I can go back 
to the campus in September and never bat an eye.” 

“I do so wish that Gordon were to be with you 
next year,” she sighed. 

“His father did not seem to be seriously upset about 
his leaving college.” 

“I know, Mr. Varney, but is my only son to have 
no discipline, no fixity of purpose whatever? I had 
set my heart on his finishing at Yale.” 

Varney offered sympathy, but the congenial ac- 
quaintance was ended sooner than either wished, for 
127 


SONS OF ELI 


the approach of Briscoe Hopkins Pilcher so intimidated 
his wife that she murmured a fluttered adieu and left 
the young man gazing after her. That night he de- 
parted for New York in quest of Miss Anna Pilcher 
and the studio in which she painted, as individual free- 
dom dictated. It was now that the unterrified foot- 
ball hero experienced qualms and tremors. Girls were 
enchanting creatures, but hard to talk to. They got 
a fellow’s goat unless he could hand them a line of 
fluffy chatter. However, if Miss Pilcher at all resem- 
bled her brother, the conversation would take care of 
itself. 

Having found the studio without loss of time, Var- 
ney was admitted by a trim little maid servant, and 
requested to wait. It was an interesting place, and, 
while the caller surveyed the unfinished canvases, a 
small dog, of the terrier breed, darted from beneath a 
divan and displayed an acute dislike for the person- 
ality of young Mr. Varney. So long as it merely barked 
and growled, he paid no attention, but presently it 
made a rush, and nipped the leg of his trousers. This 
ferocious assault was unexpected, and the results were 
tragic. The terrier’s teeth became caught in the 
cloth of the trousers. Varney attempted to shake 
loose the pestiferous little beast. His motions were 
vigorous, but he had no intention of inflicting a kick. 

The dog freed itself and spun away with a yelp of 
fright just as the door opened. The young woman 
who stood staring in wrathful amazement could not 
be blamed for assuming that the foot of this strange 
128 


THE LETTER OF THE LAW 


young man had intentionally propelled the darling 
terrier half across the room. A heinous, unpardonable 
offense! Fred Varney wheeled and confronted a girl 
whose poise and dignity failed to suggest the Pilcher 
blood. She was quite handsome at this moment; her 
color heightened as she icily exclaimed: 

“May I ask who you are, and why you mistreat 
my dog in that cowardly fashion?” 

“Miss Anna Pilcher?” faltered Varney. He ap- 
peared like a victim of stage fright. “Honestly, I love 
that dog. Do you think I was trying to punt him 
through the skylight?” 

She had glanced at his card, and was regarding him 
curiously, with slightly less hauteur. 

“So you are the great Fred Varney, whom the news- 
papers call such a brutal football player? I arrived 
just in time to save poor Fido’s life. But are you 
not an impostor? I should have expected to see a 
broad-shouldered gladiator chap.” 

Varney coughed behind his hand, a thin, melan- 
choly figure, a little round-shouldered, a weary sag to 
his posture. 

“I am afraid this is all there is of me,” he apologized, 
in his diffident way. “And worry is making it less 
every day. If you will do me a favor ” 

“You kicked my dog,” said she. 

“It will take you no more than three minutes, Miss 
Pilcher.” 

“I saw you kick him, Mr. Varney. You have an 
evil temper. Perhaps I will be good enough to hear 
129 


SONS OF ELI 


what you have to say, for you are a friend of my 
brother, I believe.” 

“Please use your power of attorney, and give me 
Gordon’s receipt for this eighty dollars, which I hold 
in my right hand.” 

“So you owe him money, do you? Most of his 
friends do. He is an easy mark. Why are you so 
anxious to pay it back?” 

The weary pilgrim passed a hand across his brow 
and almost tottered to the divan, first looking under- 
neath it for a lurking terrier. The woes of Varney had 
made him eloquent. He spoke from the depths of a 
sad heart, and would not be denied. 

“Don’t chide me, Miss Pilcher. My brain is full of 
pinwheels, and I rave in my sleep. I have just come 
from a session with your father, Mr. Briscoe Hopkins 
Pilcher, and I am too feeble to explain it all over again. 
The question at issue is whether I am eligible or not. 
The decision is very important. I throw myself on 
your mercy. It is up to you.” 

Miss Anna appeared startled for one of her uncom- 
mon self-possession. This singular young man, whom 
she had never before laid eyes on excepting at a dis- 
tance, in a football combat, was addressing her in 
terms which indicated a proposal of marriage. 

“And what was the result of the interview with my 
father?” she inquired, biting her lip and trying to 
hide her amusement behind a demeanor most demure. 
“Did he consider you eligible? It was awfully proper 
and punctilious of you to consult him, I’m sure. This 
130 


THE LETTER OF THE LAW 


is really quite sudden, Mr. Varney. Must I announce 
my decision this very minute ?” 

The alleged suitor straightened himself with a jerk, 
jumped to his feet, and glanced wildly in the direction 
of the door. He wore a strained, hunted expression. 
This terrible girl might be teasing him, but you couldn’t 
tell where this doctrine of individual expression might 
lead. He had certainly balled himself up, and she had 
him on the run. She anticipated his symptoms of 
flight, and moved gracefully toward the door, in order 
to intercept him. He halted, frozen in his tracks, and 
the terrier dog, reading his coward soul, dashed out 
from under the divan and barked ferociously. The 
dauntless football captain forgot his mission as he 
hoarsely exclaimed: 

“You misunderstand me, Miss Pilcher. I — I never 
made love to a girl in my life. I’m afraid of them. I 
have to catch a train out of town — very sorry to have 
troubled you.” 

“Please don’t go,” she urged, with a display of 
sweet, maidenly emotion which convinced him that 
all was lost. “It is not as if we were really strangers. 
I have heard so much about you, and I presume you 
saw my picture in Gordon’s room, and he told you 
more or less about me. And it was only a pretext to 
introduce yourself — this eagerness to pay back some 
money you had borrowed from my brother?” 

No longer lucid, the hapless Varney stammered an 
incoherent protest, charged for the door, dodged Miss 
Anna Pilcher as though he were making a thirty-yard 
131 


SONS OF ELI 


run with the ball under his arm, and vanished from the 
studio. In the corridor he waited not for the elevator 
but clattered down the stairs and so into the street. 
In the phrase of that sport of which he was a master: 
“ Varney had been tackled and thrown for a loss.” 

As he slammed the studio door behind him, Miss 
Anna Pilcher smiled a wicked little smile before she 
donned her painting-apron and resumed her task at 
the easel, which held an unfinished masterpiece in a 
slashing, impressionistic style. The terrier caught her 
eye, and she stooped to caress the vivacious animal, 
tenderly observing: “He kicked little Fido with his 
big, horrid foot, did he? Well, I rather fancy we got 
even with him. Fm sure I don’t know what he was 
talking about, but it certainly did sound as if he had 
asked Mr. Briscoe Hopkins Pilcher for the hand of his 
only daughter. And, of course, he didn’t mean that 
at all.” 

A few hours later Varney sat glowering at a morn- 
ing newspaper, upon the sporting page of which he 
happened to discover something that interested him. 
It was an article displayed beneath these scandalous 
headlines: 

WHO PAID HIS BOARD? 

Famous Yale Athlete in an Eligibility Tangle 

Varney gritted his teeth at discovering that he was 
the hero of this sensation, and proceeded to read the 
plausible narrative, which went on to say: 

The intricate regulations devised to purify college athletics 
may have caught another victim. Early in July, Fred Varney, 
132 


THE LETTER OF THE LAW 


captain of the New Haven eleven, appeared at the Green Valley 
Country Club and put on a baseball uniform as a member of 
the club nine. It is supposed that he intended to play through 
the summer, but the connection suddenly ended a few days 
ago when Varney quitted the club in a hurry. Investigation 
discloses the fact that he was the guest of the club during his 
stay. This is admitted by the manager of the house, who can 
produce no vouchers or witnesses to show that the Yale athlete 
either paid his own living expenses or was entertained by a 
member of the Green Valley colony. 

Varney may have been warned that he was endangering his 
amateur status, and this would account for his sudden depart- 
ure. In the case of Moyer and Henderson, the Princeton 
baseball men who were declared ineligible last year, it was 
ruled that they had become professionals by playing for one 
month on the nine of a country club in New Jersey. Their 
excuse was ignorance of the law and the fact that they paid to 
the club the amount of their living expenses as soon as they 
were made aware of their offense. The eligibility committee, 
however, has since refused their plea for reinstatement. 

There was no consolation in this for the tormented 
soul of Captain Fred Varney. He rebelled against a 
system of sporting ethics which was manifestly unfair, 
absurd, and stupid, apt to trip the fellow who was 
clean-handed, and useless to catch a real culprit. The 
blockhead of a club-house manager, anxious to keep 
the scandal of his thieving clerk from the newspapers, 
had insisted that Varney was a guest of the place for 
the reason that he had no record to show that Gordon 
Pilcher was the host. 

“If a Hon eats Windy Gus, and he never comes 
back to testify,” reflected the young man, “how am 
I to kill this fool story? And he can’t possibly turn 

1 33 


SONS OF ELI 


up before the football season. Meanwhile this news- 
paper stuff will stir up a nasty rumpus.” 

A night’s sleep, or what passed for such, found him 
somewhat revived and contemplating a desperate ven- 
ture. He would go back to the studio and exhibit to 
the ruthless Anna Pilcher this newspaper indictment, 
which ought to cause her to comprehend the fix he 
was in. If she sued him for breach of promise, he 
could be no more distracted than at present. 

Like a man about to face a firing squad, he sought 
the fair disturber, who proved to be in a most amiable 
and repentant mood, as though she owned a con- 
science. She was painting furiously, but laid down 
palette and brush and cried: 

“ Please don’t look so like a human panic, Mr. Var- 
ney. The dog has gone out for a walk, and I have no 
intention of snatching you away to the altar. I think 
you are quite eligible, really, but I promise to take my 
chances with the other girls, and steal no base advan- 
tage. Now, what can I do to make you feel less for- 
lorn?” 

He gave her the newspaper in solemn silence. With 
puckered brows Anna perused the wretched article, 
and exclaimed indignantly: “One might infer that 
you had robbed an orphan asylum or eloped with the 
cook.” 

“I am almost fit to commit a murder,” said he, in a 
matter-of-fact manner. “Could you beat it? Now, 
the proposition is for me to square the confounded 
business by handing the money over to you as an agent 
134 


THE LETTER OF THE LAW 


empowered to act for your brother. This will protect 
me absolutely against the charge that I accepted my 
living expenses for two weeks from the Green Valley 
Country Club. And you can understand why I need 
to have a valid receipt as evidence.” 

“ Yes, I understand/’ she replied, with slow thought- 
fulness. “Oh, I am so sorry! You see, Mr. Varney, 
my brother rushed in to the studio the morning before 
he sailed. He had to have several thousand dollars in 
the form of a letter of credit, and he didn’t have it in 
the bank just then, and he wanted to use his power of 
attorney to draw it from my account as a loan. I 
thought his African stunt was perfectly silly, and I re- 
fused to lend him a cent or let him use my credit. 
There was a scene, a regular shindy, for Gordon has 
always had his own way, and I have a mind of my own. 
The result was that we decided to have no more un- 
divided investments. I ’phoned one lawyer and he 
scampered down-town to find another, and we revoked 
each other’s power of attorney, and it was all very dis- 
agreeable, indeed. Gordon borrowed some money on 
securities of his own, I imagine, to finance his trip. 
I know he got away in the steamer with that dissi- 
pated Billy Featherstone, whom I detest. And so I 
can’t help you one bit, Mr. Varney.” 

“It’s all off, then,” was the pensive comment. “I 
tried to catch Gordon by wireless, at sea, but had to 
send the message at random to three different steam- 
ers. Do you know the name of the ship ? Is Gordon 
likely to stop in London, and where?” 

135 


SONS OF ELI 


“He refused to tell me anything at all. What a 
pity the family was not at home! You would have 
been spared this hateful experience at the club.” 

“I’m glad it gave me the opportunity of knowing 
you, Miss Pilcher,” warmly exclaimed Varney, with 
unexpected gallantry. He sighed and drifted toward 
the exit. Just then there came from the corridor the 
sound of hearty laughter, mingled with a noisy flow of 
words. The door flew open, and Windy Gus entered 
— “blew in” describes it more accurately. He wore 
a natty suit of cream serge and carried a leather bag. 
Talking as he came, he had exclaimed, “a bright kid, 
that elevator-boy,” when he fairly bumped into Fred 
Varney and caromed off to drop the bag and shout: 

“My long-lost college chum! Well, well, well, old 
scout! How about it? What’s the answer? Per- 
haps I had better explain myself. Ship broke down 
three days out — busted her shaft and wallowed about 
till a freighter came along and towed us back to little 
old New York. Say, I was glad of it. 

“And here is my beautiful, bad-tempered sister!” 
cried the African traveller, clasping her to his breast. 
“I have come back to apologize and suggest some for- 
giveness. I was no gentleman. Can we kiss and 
make up, Anna?” 

“I suppose we ought to,” said she, with more com- 
posure than he displayed. “Family squabbles are bad 
form, but you are very trying at times, Gordon, dear. 
I do wish Mr. Varney could take you in hand as a 
keeper or guardian.” 


136 


THE LETTER OF THE LAW 


“By the way, Fred, are you still at the Green Valley 
Club?” demanded Gordon. “And what's your bat- 
ting average? The team cleaning 'em all up? We’ll 
run down there together to-night and organize a re- 
union celebration in my honor. To Africa and back 
in a jiffy, eh?” 

Varney seized the right ear of young Mr. Pilcher, 
holding it firmly between a sinewy thumb and finger, 
and led him by this handle to the divan. A poke in the 
belt, and Windy Gus sat down abruptly. Standing 
over him, Varney scowled grimly, and said, in menac- 
ing accents: 

“Speak one word until I finish, and I’ll twist both 
ears off. Pardon me, Miss Pilcher, but it's the only 
way to shut him up — brute force, violence. Will you 
swear, so help you, that I was your personal guest at 
the club?” 

“Of course, you boob ! Who said you weren't ? Was 
anybody rude to you after I left ? A little dinner to- 
night is the thing; a few of us, and-^-ouch, I'll be quiet.” 

“And you signed vouchers for me? No doubt 
about it?” 

“Sure I did. What’s more, Fred, I paid the bill 
before I left. It was the first of the month, and I 
didn’t know when mail was likely to reach me, and I 
didn't want to be posted at the club for non-payment 
of house charges. The clerk gave me a receipt, and I 
tucked it in a pocket with some other papers. And I 
ran across them yesterday, and stowed them in my 
trunk. And so there you are.” 

137 


SONS OF ELI 


“ Thank God!” was the fervent reply. 

“For my safe return? How kind of you, old man. 
And here’s a joke on you. I paid your club bill with 
your own money. I was short of cash, do you see, and 
in the deuce of a rush, and I hopped into your room to 
steal your shoe-horn, and there was a pocketbook on 
the bureau. I touched it to the tune of seventy 
dollars, meaning to drop you a line from New York, 
but it slipped my mind. And there you are again.” 

“I paid my own board, then — I was nobody’s 
guest!” shouted Varney, releasing the captive’s ear. 

“Nonsense. I’ll give you that seventy as soon as 
we can trot around the bank.” 

“Don’t you dare!” sternly exclaimed the ransomed 
athlete. “You didn’t borrow that seventy. Get me? 
I paid my board with it. Hospitality be hanged ! A 
college man who plays ball for fun in the summer can 
afford to be nobody’s guest.” 

“Have it your own way. You are a stubborn 
animal,” cheerfully agreed Gordon Pilcher. “Some- 
body called you a professional?” 

“Forget it,” admonished Varney. “Never mention 
the word, or you will have to wear a false ear. I’ll 
bite it off next time.” 

Miss Anna broke in to ask, with more feeling than 
she had shown: 

“Is it true that you have been dropped from your 
class at Yale, Gordon?” 

“Well, my final score was a trifle too low to qualify; 
but, after thinking it over carefully, I have decided to 
138 


THE LETTER OF THE LAW 


beat it for New Haven to-morrow, track the dean to 
his lair, and discuss it as man to man. If I tutor for 
the rest of the summer, I can work off some of those 
conditions. It’s a cinch. Perhaps I can break into 
next year on probation.” 

“Your father threatens to back the dean into a 
corner, Gus,” said Varney. “With all due respect to 
him, I advise you to head him off and plead your own 
cause. I tell you what I’ll do. If the college will give 
you another chance, I agree to make you study more 
and talk less next year.” 

“That will make a hit with the dean,” joyfully re- 
plied the prodigal son. “Fred Varney goes bail for 
me — threatens harsh measures — stem, exacting ad- 
viser. I win. Now, lovely Anna, the three of us for 
a nice little lunch to-day and time to talk it over. I 
shall be declared eligible in September. Leave it to 
Varney.” 

The football captain shuddered, and spoke with 
deep emotion: 

“Never, never use that word in my presence, Gus. 
It’s a jinx.” 

“He means ‘ eligible ,’ Gordon,” explained Anna. 
“I rather like it myself. You might ask him why.” 


139 


GETTING HIS GOAT 

Perley Hotchkiss was a Yale Freshman who had 
no intention of loafing through college. He boiled over 
with initiative, and the one thing that made him sad 
was the lack of more than twenty-four hours in a day. 
His mind was so active that it outran his powers of 
speech, and he was apt to stutter when excited be- 
cause he could not spill the words fast enough. He 
was thin, of course, for no youth could go his gait and 
lay on flesh, and the sallow complexion was probably 
due to loss of sleep and hasty meals. At one and the 
same time he was competing for the Yale News board, 
the Freshman glee-club, and the debating team, drum- 
ming up trade for a clothes-pressing concern, and man- 
aging an eating-club. When not otherwise engaged, 
he dashed at his text-books or concocted new schemes 
to fill any stray crevices in his schedule. 

The Freshman eleven was barred to Perley Hotch- 
kiss, who had tons of spirit, but too few pounds of 
weight. He tried his best, however, and was ban- 
ished from the squad on the second day. His interest 
was undimmed, and he considered it a duty to sprint 
out to the field, utter a few hearty cheers for his strug- 
gling comrades, and leg it back to the campus to keep 
the next engagement. This was in harmony with his 
doctrine that a fellow must never lose sight of the fact 
140 


GETTING HIS GOAT 


that he was a Yale man in honor bound to work like 
the dickens for the college. 

Now, this happened to be a Freshman football team 
which could get on very well without the artificial 
stimulus of cheers. It was composed of youngsters 
swift and brawny who had come down from the pre- 
paratory schools famed for athletic prowess, and most 
of them were expected to be varsity material in an- 
other year. It was an unusual combination of talent, 
an eleven which would have made trouble for many 
college teams. They played with terrific ardor, and 
with a self-confidence that was half the battle. 

The captain was a broad-chested, bow-legged, pug- 
nacious tackle named Fairchild, who had worn Exeter 
colors for three seasons. Some sort of a feud had ex- 
isted between him and his successor as captain of the 
school team, and it was to be inferred that they hated 
each other with sincere enthusiasm. Fairchild’s per- 
sonality dominated the other Freshmen, who began to 
think as he did, that their most important task was 
beating Exeter. In other seasons this match had been 
merely one of the preliminary schedule whose climax 
was the contest with the Harvard Freshmen, but the 
implacable Fairchild decreed otherwise. They were 
eternally disgraced unless they fairly wiped Phillips 
Exeter Academy from the football map. 

The Exeter lads got wind of this hostile attitude, but 
were undismayed. They fanned the flame in letters 
to friends at New Haven, poking fun at Fairchild as 
a sulky brute who was making a spectacle of himself. 


SONS OF ELI 


What he needed was a good licking, and the Exeter 
team was ready to hand it to him. Gradually several 
hundred Freshmen, who had no idea what it was all 
about, became possessed of the notion that the pres- 
tige of their glorious class was staked on this football 
issue with the ancient preparatory school in New 
England. They were an impulsive herd, easily swayed 
by prejudice, and the embittered Fairchild was natu- 
rally regarded as a leader. 

Perley Hotchkiss had never even beheld the town of 
Exeter, and his diploma had been granted by a public 
high school, but he displayed an intense interest in 
this quarrel. He began a canvass of the class to as- 
certain how many men would pledge themselves to 
accompany the team to Exeter and show their loyalty. 
It was their duty to go, he asserted, whether they 
could afford it or not. The team must have their sup- 
port. Alas, the response was disheartening. No more 
than a handful of Freshmen signed the paper which 
Perley Hotchkiss circulated with so much conscien- 
tious zeal. The trouble with the others was mostly 
financial. Guileless and ignorant, they had been al- 
ready separated from their allowances for the autumn 
term. 

“It's no cheap little trip to New Hampshire and 
back/’ argued one of them. “There is the railroad 
fare and either a hotel bill or two nights in a sleeping- 
car, and incidentals to beat the band. The jaunt will 
make twenty-five dollars’ worth of money look all 
shot.” 


142 


GETTING HIS GOAT 


“Q-quite right,” stammered Perley, who was agi- 
tated, “b-but we owe it to the finest Freshman team 
that ever s-stepped on a field.” 

“I wish somebody owed it to me,” sighed the other. 
“Then you could watch me step out and try to col- 
lect. I admire your pep, but you can’t round up a 
crowd.” 

“I have another week to get busy in !” cried Perley, 
whose elocution was back on the rails and running 
smoothly. “I am pretty good at organizing things.” 
He flung out an arm in a nervous gesture, his eager 
features wore a startled expression, and he blurted, 
again tripping over his consonants: 

“I just t- thought of something. They hit me 
s-suddenly, right out of a clear sky. I went West 
last summer and spent t-two weeks on a ranch. ' See 
you later.” 

What had occurred to Perley Hotchkiss in this in- 
spirational manner was the proposition of transport- 
ing a crowd of Freshmen to Exeter in a freight-car. 
The expense per head would be trifling. Billed as live- 
stock, their car would be sent through promptly and 
they ought not to have to spend more than one night 
on the road. With plenty of hay to sleep on, and 
some stuff to eat, they could be comfortable and happy. 
Procrastination was no thief of Perley’s time, and he 
hurried down- town at once to the offices of the railroad. 

He was passed along from one clerk to another until 
a traffic official listened courteously to his statement 
and proceeded to explain that his singular demand was 
143 


SONS OF ELI 


out of the question. Perley Hotchkiss fidgeted for an 
opening, scowled most earnestly, and delivered him- 
self of this breathless argument: 

“I think you miss my p-point. If we can’t be 
shipped as live-stock, my s-scheme is that we go as 
attendants, just as the cowboys ride to Omaha or 
Denver in the c-cattle trains. I have figured it out, 
and I can’t see how you can t-tum us down.” 

The railroad official, viewing this persistent Fresh- 
man as an entertaining novelty, kept a serious face 
and gravely inquired: “Do you mind explaining how 
you boys expect to be passed as attendants in a live- 
stock car which contains no genuine live-stock?” 

“Easy enough,” replied Perley. “I will put a 
p-pig in a crate, and a p-pig certainly classes as five- 
stock. And we fellows will go along to take care of 
him.” 

“Fifty or sixty of you?” was the comment. “That 
pig would be mighty well taken care of. You are 
such an ingenious young man that I am truly sorry 
to discourage you. But it can’t be done. The regula- 
tions stand in the way. The number of men allowed 
to ride with five-stock must be limited. If I let you 
escort a pig to Exeter, the precedent would be bad for 
the company. Every stranded theatrical troupe could 
get back to Broadway cheap by purchasing one small 
Pig” 

“Anyhow, it’s a corker of a scheme,” faltered Perley 
Hotchkiss, his elation so subdued that he no longer 
stuttered. “Maybe I can think of something else in 

144 


GETTING HIS GOAT 


the next few days. I have set my heart on getting a 
mob of heelers for that Exeter game.” 

“By all means come and talk it over with me,” 
was the cordial injunction. “You make me forget 
my troubles.” 

The traffic official passed it along as an excellent 
joke at lunch, and the story made its way through the 
office building until it reached the second vice-presi- 
dent. He laughed and thought no more about it 
until he went home to dinner that night. There he 
found a guest, a languid and leisurely Yale Senior, 
whose name was Jeremiah Altemus, junior. The father 
of Jerry was a railroad magnate of the Middle West, 
who had been an intimate friend of the vice-president 
for many years. The latter had therefore welcomed 
the son to the hospitality of his home in New Haven. 
It was an agreeable refuge, and Jerry had formed the 
habit of sauntering in quite informally. 

It was with gusto that the host related the episode 
of Perley Hotchkiss and the live-stock car, and Jerry 
listened across the table with a faint, sardonic smile. 
He had encountered Perley, who dunned him for sub- 
scriptions and patronage of various kinds. It was 
praiseworthy of a Freshman to display such infernal 
zeal, but he was a pest, in Jerry’s estimation, and de- 
served to be toned down. He was too glaring a feature 
of the campus landscape. Jerry had prepared at 
Exeter, and he was fond of the school. The bad feel- 
ing which had been stirred up by the bellicose Fair- 
child was most deplorable. It would be all wrong to 
145 


SONS OF ELI 


send a crowd of Freshmen to the game. In their silly 
mood, they might start a rough-house and impair the 
relations between Yale and Exeter. It was a bump- 
tious Freshman class, objectionably so now that its 
football team seemed to be invincible. 

These righteous thoughts Jerry kept to himself, 
but there was mischief in his eye as he loafed in the 
library with the vice-president after dinner and talked 
shrewdly of current affairs, for he was wise for his 
years and accustomed to the society of older men. 
At the opportune moment he suggested, in silken 
accents: 

“ This Perley Hotchkiss really deserves to win, don’t 
you think, sir? Now if there was any way to stretch 
the rules a bit and let him have a live-stock car — that 
dodge of his about the pig is so deucedly neat — and it 
could be kept out of the newspapers so as not to estab- 
lish an awkward precedent for you.” 

“ There is the interstate commerce commission, for 
one thing,” amiably replied the other, “and a lot of 
rules about freight and passenger traffic.” 

“But on some of your little, back-country branch 
lines you still run mixed trains,” argued Jerry; “one 
battered old coach sandwiched between freight-cars. 
This live wire of a Perley Hotchkiss has sprung some- 
thing new on you. If you could see any way to cut 
the red tape and haul these burbling Freshmen to the 
end of your road, and turn them over to the Boston & 
Maine as fast freight, green and perishable ” 

The vice-president was a stout and kindly man with 
146 


GETTING HIS GOAT 


a sense of humor, and he had once been a Yale under- 
graduate himself. Besides, he was fond of Jerry Alte- 
mus because he was the son of his father. 

“If you are personally interested in this absurd 
pilgrimage,” said he, “ possibly I might be wheedled 
into letting it go through. However, I should insist 
on the pig in a crate. Freshmen are not live-stock, 
and you can’t find them mentioned in any of our 
classifications. Therefore they will have to travel as 
pig tenders.” 

“ Really, I should consider it a personal favor!” 
gratefully exclaimed Jerry, pressing his advantage. 
“ These kids show the proper spirit. And I am sure 
my father will enjoy it when I write him. A railroad 
corporation never loses anything by behaving as if it 
had a human soul.” 

“Now, see here, Jerry, my boy,” suddenly spoke 
the vice-president, mindful of the dignity of his posi- 
tion, “my name is not to appear in this, do you under- 
stand? It wouldn’t do at all. I’m not sure whether 
you are letting me in for a felony or a misdemeanor. 
A railroad official never knows, these days. You 
might catch this Perley Hotchkiss on the campus and 
discuss things in a casual manner. Mention the Ex- 
eter game, and ask him how many Freshmen expect 
to go with the team. Then you can artfully suggest 
that he tackle the railroad again, never say die, and 
all that.” 

“Egg him on? He doesn’t need it, sir. One hint 
and he won’t wait to listen. With an air of authority, 
147 


SONS OF ELI 

as the son of a railroad man, I will merely slip him a 
word of advice.” 

The dawdling Jerry could be energetic when the occa- 
sion demanded. He waylaid Perley Hotchkiss after 
chapel next morning, and flattered that ingenuous 
youth by displaying a paternal interest in his affairs. 
Young Mr. Altemus was one of the exclusive coterie 
of Seniors who dwelt on Olympian heights, and it was 
a condescension for him to notice a Freshman. Perley 
blushed and thanked him, waited a moment for cour- 
tesy’s sake, and was off like a bullet. The unscrupulous 
Jerry, who dearly loved a conspiracy, smiled a mean- 
ing smile and sauntered in search of a partner. Bob 
Sedgwick and Fred Varney were tied hard and fast to 
the varsity eleven. Several other men had good reasons 
for keeping clear of a fool stunts,” and Jerry finally en- 
listed that massive person, Llewellyn Chalmers Jordan, 
who was better known as “ Sleepy Mike.” 

Perley Hotchkiss was tremendously pleased to find 
that the railroad was willing to reconsider his unusual 
request. Speedily he recruited as many loyal Fresh- 
men as could possibly be crowded into a live-stock 
car. The janitor of a dormitory agreed to buy a pig 
and stow it in his back yard until needed. The enter- 
prise was to be kept secret. Perley feared the Sopho- 
mores, who would like nothing better than a chance 
to raid this excursion. The Freshmen were their nat- 
ural and lawful prey. 

There were no portents of trouble, however, and late 
in the afternoon of Friday the members of the party 
148 


GETTING HIS GOAT 


stole from the campus and gathered at the rendez- 
vous in the freight-yard. They carried suitcases and 
bundles wrapped in newspapers, which looked as if 
they might be blankets. A shifting engine was noisily 
sorting out cars and making up the express freight. 
The conductor informed Perley that he had been told 
to insist on a quick transfer for live-stock car No. 
32456, and that orders had been sent ahead to that 
effect. With good luck, it ought to be out of the 
terminal junction bright and early in the morning, and 
dropped on the siding at Exeter by noon of Saturday. 

It was, in fact, the jolliest kind of a lark, far more 
fun than riding in a Pullman. They nestled in the 
hay and cheered every few minutes as the train rat- 
tled past farm and village in the cold, clear night. By 
the light of a brakeman’s lantern swinging from the 
roof, they played cards, and a volunteer glee-club sang 
itself hoarse. The pig in the crate received their 
thoughtful attention. Never was a pig so personally 
conducted. A ribbon of Yale blue was knotted about 
his crinkly tail, and he wore a blanket on which were 
emblazoned the class numerals. He was fed at fre- 
quent intervals on pie, sandwiches, doughnuts, pea- 
nuts, and ginger ale. It was Perley’s intention to lead 
him upon the Exeter field as the mascot of the Fresh- 
man invasion. 

There was no opportunity to tumble out and scout 
for coffee and a civilized breakfast until the car had 
been switched to another train and was rumbling 
through the northern part of Massachusetts. Then 
149 


SONS OF ELI 


came a delay and a halt to let a passenger local pass. 
The siding was in a small town, and across the street 
from the station the hungry Freshmen descried the 
sign of a restaurant. They charged in a body with 
whoops of joy, nor lingered to brush the hay from their 
garments. The early morning had been frosty, and 
they were chilled and stiff and weary, 
j It was a little restaurant, unprepared for this on- 
slaught, and they fell upon it like a swarm of locusts. 
The vanguard filled it to the doors, and the overflow 
clamored on the sidewalk. During this confusion 
there approached the siding, from the opposite track, 
two young men who moved rapidly, but without ex- 
citement, as though they knew precisely what they 
were doing. One was dark and slender, and his man- 
ner was sophisticated, while the other towered hugely, 
his features placid and innocent. They very much 
resembled Jeremiah Altemus, junior, and Llewellyn 
Chalmers Jordan. The freight-train screened them 
from discovery by the Freshmen who were engaged in 
storming the restaurant. Warily they beckoned the 
conductor and a brakeman and held a low- voiced con- 
ference. There must have been some pre-arrangement, 
for the conductor glanced at a memorandum which 
had been given him at the terminal junction. Pres- 
ently he also held in his hand something which looked 
like paper currency. This he divided with the brake- 
man. They were honest men, but they had large 
families, and they needed the money. 

One of them acted as a sentry while the pig in its 
iso 


GETTING HIS GOAT 


crate was shoved out of a side door of the live-stock 
car. Surfeited by a rich and varied diet, the pig 
emitted not one solitary warning squeal as it was car- 
ried across the tracks and hoisted into a waiting wagon. 
The driver whipped his horse, and the purloined pig 
vanished around the nearest comer. A moment later, 
Messrs. Altemus and Jordan hurdled into an auto- 
mobile and even more swiftly absented themselves. 
Their flight was in the direction of Exeter. Jerry, 
who was at the steering-wheel, ejaculated, as they 
gained the open country: 

“My, but I did want to stick around and see the 
sport! Unsafe, though! Those Freshmen would be 
apt to start something if they could lay hands on us.” 

“You surely did engineer a complicated jest,” 
drawled Jordan, “but it seems to be coming through 
according to schedule. How did you dope it out that 
the bunch would fall off the train for breakfast at this 
particular hamlet?” 

“Railroad talent shines in the Altemus family. I 
inherit my share of it,” was the modest answer. “You 
observed that I used the telephone freely this morning.” 

“And greased the skids with lavish coin, no doubt,” 
said the large one. “You seem to be able to corrupt 
transportation systems just as if you were a State 
legislature, or vice versa.” 

“Not guilty,” laughed Jerry. “I am strong for the 
uplift. This performance is warranted absolutely 
harmless. It gives Perley Hotchkiss a bully chance 
to show how he can organize himself in an emergency.” 


SONS OF ELI 


Meanwhile the carload of Freshmen had swept the 
restaurant bare of everything but the crockery, and 
they began to straggle back to the train. It was the 
nimble Perley who was first to climb into the live- 
stock car, and he promptly uttered a loud cry of dis- 
may. There was no pig in a crate, as he assured him- 
self after blinking rapidly at the place where the pig 
had been. His comrades demanded an explanation, 
but he had none to offer. He rushed toward the ca- 
boose to find the conductor, who stood outside chatting 
with a brakeman. 

“Shy a pig, are you?” replied the conductor, who 
was quite calm and collected. “Some of you lads 
ought to have stayed to watch it.” 

“You are resp-p-ponsible,” spluttered Perley, who 
was greatly perturbed. “Why didn’t you keep an 
eye on our p-pig?” 

“With fifty or sixty of you pig tenders in charge? 
You’re joking. If you have a case against the railroad 
for loss of property in transit, shoot it to the claim 
agent’s office in writing.” 

“Oh, forget it, Perley !” broke in another Freshman. 
“His piglets is a nuisance. I’m glad we are rid of 
him.” 

The conductor looked at his watch, and his expres- 
sion became severe as he exclaimed: 

“I pull out in just ten minutes more. Sorry, but 
I’ll have to leave you all here. You can catch a pas- 
senger-train for Exeter, or if you haven’t got the price, 
the walking is said to be good.” 


GETTING HIS GOAT 


This was a bombshell. Twenty Freshmen were in- 
dignantly shouting at him at once, and the brakeman 
looked out for a handy coupling-pin in case of need. 
There were symptoms of a riot. Perley Hotchkiss 
waved his arms and yelled for silence. He was the 
rightful leader and spokesman. 

“This car is b-billed through to Exeter, New Hamp- 
shire, as express freight!” he cried. “What’s more 
it’s p-paid for, and I have the company’s receipt in my 
contract. I’ll sue for damages and c-collect thousands 
of dollars. What’s the matter with you, anyhow? 
Have you gone c-crazy?” 

The conductor stolidly stood his ground. If he 
winked at the brakeman, it was done with a finesse 
that defied detection. 

“Your bill of lading calls for live-stock,” was the 
firm response. “There is no more live-stock in the 
car. I have no authority to carry you as passengers. 
You are travelling in charge of live-stock, and where 
is it?” 

“You can search us!” sighed Perley, whose active 
wits were stalled on a dead centre. “On the level, 
you don’t really mean to throw us off? How the 
d-dickens can we get back to New Haven? We didn’t 
bring much money with us.” 

“Produce the pig and you are entitled to occupy 
the car,” was the cruel mandate. “All I have to go 
by is the rules of the company.” 

The gloom was heavy as a wet blanket. The Fresh- 
men gazed wanly at each other, and then turned to 
153 


SONS OF ELI 


Perley Hotchkiss, as by a common instinct. He per- 
ceived that they expected him to extricate them, and 
he aroused himself. If the expedition should come to 
grief in this lamentable manner, the scoffing campus 
would never let go of it. His career was at stake. 
He threw back his head, squared his shoulders, and his 
eyes sparkled, as he declaimed to the conductor: 

“Live-stock, eh? Here, fellows, chase yourselves 
and p-pick up anything you can find — a dog, a cat, a 
chicken. Borrow, buy, or steal it. And beat it back 
to the train. It doesn’t have to be a p-pig. You’ve 
got five minutes more.” 

“There’s a live rattlesnake in a glass case over 
yonder, in the window of a saloon, Perley,” piped up 
one Freshman. “After you, Alphonse.” 

“There goes a horse I’ll bet we can buy for ten dol- 
lars !” yelled another. “But he will fall down if you 
take him out of the shafts.” 

“He won’t do!” shouted Perley. “No time to 
load him on the car.” 

At this critical moment there came trotting into view 
a fractious goat attached to a two-wheeled cart, a 
small boy whacking him with a stick. He was a patri- 
archal goat whose whiskers were gray, and his temper 
had grown no better with advancing years. The Fresh- 
men roared with delight and scared the small boy by 
dashing at him from all sides. He managed to com- 
prehend that they wanted to buy the goat and named 
seven dollars as the price. The parting seemed to 
cause him no sorrow. He informed Perley that the 


GETTING HIS GOAT 


derned old goat had butted him pretty near into the 
middle of next week. 

The prize was snatched out of his harness and picked 
up bodily by a dozen pairs of arms. As they ran for 
the train, the conductor gave the signal to go ahead. 

The cars were slowly moving as they hurled them- 
selves aboard, clutching the goat. The last Freshmen 
were drawn in by the neck, and the party, all present 
and accounted for, was again rattling along on the road 
to Exeter. They cheered for Yale, for their class, for 
Perley Hotchkiss, and loudest of all for the goat, who 
was dubbed Mortimer Spence because of a fancied re- 
semblance to an estimable member of the Yale faculty. 

The conductor sat in the caboose listening to the 
jubilant racket, and he appeared annoyed. After mak- 
ing a nefarious bargain with Jerry Altemus, he had 
failed to deliver the goods. To the pensive brakeman 
he grumbled: 

“ These Freshmen are the guys that put the live in 
live-stock. Get me? They outguessed us. If we 
could have beat ’em to the goat, but they saw it 
first.” 

“Pm not so awful sorry,” was the reply. “I never 
was any too strong for these practical jokes. Young 
Altemus and that seven-foot side-kicker of his seemed 
to think it was a scream. Say, we don’t have to re- 
fund, do we?” 

“Not on your life, George ! We stand pat. There’s 
no danger of a comeback.” 

The Freshmen had forgotten their grudge against 
i55 


SONS OF ELI 


the railroad. The goat was more fun than a circus. 
It was necessary to hold him in leash with a couple of 
leather belts, for he rammed his way from one end of 
the car to the other. With room for a fair start, he 
moved as if shot from a howitzer. At the first attempt 
he smote Perley Hotchkiss in the pit of the stomach. 
The dauntless leader doubled up like a hinge and ut- 
tered a sighing moan. It was several minutes before 
he recovered his wind sufficiently to call Mortimer 
Spence harsh names. After a spirited tussle, two tiny 
blue flags were attached to the sweeping horns. It 
was eminently fitting that Perley should lead the pro- 
cession to the Exeter field and escort the goat, but he 
firmly declined. Whenever the goat waggled its head 
at him and blatted defiance, Perley clapped his hands 
to his stomach. Once was enough. 

At the railroad station in Exeter, Jerry Altemus 
awaited the arrival of an express from Boston, hoping 
to meet some of his old school friends who might be 
coming back for the game. He was in the best of 
spirits. There would be no crowd of noisy, hostile 
Freshmen to make asses of themselves, and they had 
been taught a necessary lesson. To be ditched in a 
strange town ought to do them a whole lot of good. 
That bright boy, Perley Hotchkiss, would be less con- 
spicuous on the campus after this. Jerry was airing 
these sentiments when a freight-train pulled in, backed 
and went ahead again, and dropped what was un- 
mistakably a live-stock car. 

156 


GETTING HIS GOAT 


It was empty, of course, concluded Jerry, and he 
grinned in a heartless manner. A moment later, there 
came rocketing from the car a long, concerted cheer 
with three “ Yales” tacked on the end of it. Jerry’s 
happy smile faded, and he cast a sad, perplexed glance 
at Sleepy Jordan. It was not an exit, but an eruption, 
from the car as the Freshmen hastily formed a line be- 
hind Perley Hotchkiss and a braver youngster who led 
a gray-whiskered, rampant goat. 

“Now where did they get it?” said Jerry with a 
sigh. 

J c Perhaps the conductor double-crossed you,” sug- 
gested Jordan. “He may have turned around and 
sold them the goat. Either that, or you failed to size 
up the acute intellect that sizzles beneath the hat of 
Perley Hotchkiss.” 

“I lose,” was the reply. “Listen to the idiots. 
They are cheering Mortimer Spence. Where does the 
professor of constitutional English history break into 
the plot?” 

“ Maybe they hid him in the car to use as live-stock 
in case somebody steals the goat.” 

Jerry turned away and refused to look at the Fresh- 
man parade which was romping in the direction of the 
nearest street. Their line of march led past the lawns 
and buildings of the school, and the news spread 
swiftly. This spectacular invasion was accepted as a 
challenge, and the Exeter lads decided to muster for 
a procession to the field. It was inferred that these 
Freshmen were friends and followers of their own foot- 


157 


SONS OF ELI 


ball captain, Fairchild, and partisans of his personal 
grudge against the Exeter captain. For this reason the 
welcome was not cordial. 

When the rival elevens confronted each other it was 
seen that the Exeter captain, who was tall, freckled, 
and red-headed, had shifted his own playing position 
from guard to tackle, which brought him opposite Fair- 
child in the rush line. They glowered at each other 
in a ferocious manner, as if determined to make it a 
combat instead of a game. 

Jerry Altemus surveyed them with marked disap- 
proval and asked one of the schoolboys: 

“What ails those two man-eaters? How did it 
start? They certainly do not love each other.” 

“It was a girl,” solemnly answered the informant, 
who must have been all of seventeen, and spoke as a 
man of the world. “‘Bull' Fairchild and ‘ Slugger ' 
Hammill, our captain, were desperately in love with 
her last year, when they were both at Exeter. She 
promised to go to a school dance with one of them, I 
forget which, and then chucked him up for the other. 
That sort of thing won't do. Girls don't seem to 
realize the seriousness of it. A fellow's whole life 
may be blighted.” 

“And is the fickle fairy here to-day, may I inquire?” 

“Yes. I like her nerve, don’t you? We have an 
idea that she has promised to favor whichever cap- 
tain wins the game, just to sic 'em on. Some women 
are heartless.” 

“It was ever thus, my son,” murmured Jerry. 
158 



This spectacular invasion was accepted as a challenge. 



















' 







































GETTING HIS GOAT 

“They like to sit in the arena and waggle thumbs 
down.” 

The first ten minutes of the game showed that the 
captains twain were aptly nicknamed. They were 
earnest players, but they appeared to forget that the 
gentle pastime of football was presumed to enlist the 
services of eleven men on a side. They were contented 
to fight it out between themselves. The logical result 
was that one lost his temper and the other mislaid his 
about two seconds later. A signal, a scrimmage, a 
run down the field, and twenty youngsters were intent 
on the ball, while Bull Fairchild and Slugger Hammill 
remained behind, absorbed in pounding each other. 

It was an absurd sight, this pair of tackles isolated, 
taking no part in the play, fists flying, until an official 
rushed up to separate them. He promptly ruled them 
both off the field, snatched them out of the game, and 
scolded like a stern parent. Sheepish was the aspect 
of the two captains as they retreated to the side-lines, 
heartily ashamed of themselves. Their behavior had 
been that of undisciplined children, and they had 
failed in their duty to their respective teams. Sobered 
and repentant were Bull Fairchild and Slugger Ham- 
mill, fallen champions, but the effect on their followers 
was quite the contrary. 

The Yale Freshmen were convinced that the Exeter 
man was guilty of starting the ruction. The school- 
boys were no less certain that Fairchild had struck the 
first blow. 

“Mucker ball !” yelled an Exeter cheer leader, wildly 
159 


SONS OF ELI 


brandishing his megaphone. “ Chase ’em off the 
field. They think they can play mucker ball and get 
away with it.” 

The Freshman party was vastly outnumbered, but 
Perley Hotchkiss cared not for the odds. Unterrified 
was his mien as he shouted: “ Chase n-nothing ! This 
S-Slugger Hammill was looking for t-trouble, and he 
g-got it. Serve him right if F-Fairchild knocked his 
b-block off.” 

The officials and members of the Exeter faculty 
quieted the disturbance and threatened to end the 
game if the crowd could not behave like young gentle- 
men. Play was resumed, the tactics of both teams 
shaky and uncertain without leadership. Yale man- 
aged to score a touch-down on a ragged series of rushes, 
and Exeter elected to depend upon the toe of its full- 
back, who was a proficient drop-kicker. His first at- 
tempt was easily successful, and the school felt con- 
fident that he could repeat the trick, because the 
Freshmen were unable to force the playing away from 
dangerous territory. 

Among the spectators were several hundred towns- 
people, and they were loudest in applause of the agile 
drop-kicker. He belonged to them, it seemed, as the 
son of an old Exeter family, and had grown up in the 
town. If his father was present it must have been 
difficult for him to recognize his offspring in this lanky, 
mud-besmeared figure armored in leather cap and nose- 
guard, his red jersey torn half off his back and flapping 
in tatters. 


GETTING HIS GOAT 


Mortimer Spence, the venerable goat, had been 
vexed by the noise and commotion around him. The 
experience rasped his nerves, and kind words failed to 
soothe him. His guardians tried to lead him up and 
down the side-line as a harbinger of victory, but he 
either balked or knocked the pins from under innocent 
bystanders. The football players seemed to provoke 
his ire more than anything else. He was anxious to 
take part in a scrimmage. 

The Exeter full-back stood thirty yards from the 
Yale goal-posts. He was tensely poised to receive the 
ball and lift it for another drop-kick that should clinch 
a victory for his school. The disorganized Freshmen 
were at his mercy. The crowd was silent and breath- 
less. It was the crucial instant of the game. The 
hush was broken by a long and angry bleat from Mor- 
timer Spence. He reared, plunged forward, and 
gained his liberty. 

Perhaps it was the flapping red jersey of the Exeter 
full-back that caught his sinister eye. At any rate, 
he picked his target without hesitation or wavering. 
Head down and tail up, he flew like an arrow, a bat- 
tering-ram propelled with amazing energy. Nobody 
shouted a warning. With one accord, the spectators 
held their breath. They simply had to see the finish. 
Curiosity overpowered them. The full-back was too 
intent on his task to note the quick thud of flying feet 
behind him. 

Just as the ball was passed to him, Mortimer Spence 
arrived. In his long and wicked life he had never 


SONS OF ELI 


achieved a collision so brilliant as this. The thump 
was heard across the field. The hapless full-back 
shot ahead, landed on hands and knees, and furrowed 
the turf with his nose. He had never before gained 
five yards as suddenly as this. The ball went spin- 
ning off to one side, and was pounced upon by an 
alert Freshman who sprinted for the Exeter goal, but 
the referee stopped laughing long enough to call him 
back on the ground of interference. 

Ordering Mortimer off the field was easier said than 
done. He was eager to add another red jersey to his 
score. 

During this lively interlude, the Exeter stripling 
who sat next to Jerry Altemus seemed to be in the 
throes of conflicting emotions. He denounced the 
Yale Freshmen as a bunch of cheap sports who had 
purposely turned loose the goat in order to spoil a 
drop-kick, while in the next breath he declared that it 
served the smitten full-back right. This paradox in- 
terested Jerry, who turned to inquire in bland accents: 

“ Would you mind elucidating yourself just a few? 
What about your unfortunate schoolmate who was 
knocked heels over head?” 

“ Why, he used to own that goat,” answered the lad. 
“We lived in the same street when we were kids, right 
here in Exeter. I recognized the goat the minute I 
laid eyes on him. Jim Stone — that’s our full-back — 
sold the goat to a boy that moved to Haverhill, or 
somewhere near there. Jim was mighty unkind to 
that goat. He used to wallop the tar out of it, and I 
162 


GETTING HIS GOAT 


guess he put a crimp in its disposition. That’s why 
I couldn’t help saying it served him right.” 

“Ha, ha, the long arm of coincidence, likewise a 
package of poetic justice!” chuckled Jerry. 

“Something like that,” agreed the Exeter student, 
“but it’s a rotten trick to break up a football game with 
a hellion of an old billy-goat.” 

Jerry’s attention was drawn to the field. The offi- 
cials had ordered the teams to resume the game. 
There was much angry argument, but the Exeter play- 
ers sulkily obeyed. They pounded away at the Fresh- 
man line and gave the full-back another opportunity 
for a drop-kick. He was nervous, however, and fre- 
quently glanced over his shoulder. Perley Hotchkiss 
and his comrades were chanting: “We’ve got his goat ! 
Oh, have we got his goat? Whose goat did we get? 
Jim Stone’s goat !” 

This was no idle figure of speech. The full-back was 
not the same man. Mortimer Spence was now se- 
curely fastened with a rope, but his victim was obvi- 
ously afraid the rope might break. The shock to his 
nerves had been severe, and he knew that goat of old. 
Twice he essayed a goal from the field and failed miser- 
ably. The first attempt booted the ball into the rush 
line, and the second drove it into a grand-stand. The 
Freshmen ba-a-a-ed derisively. Their eleven pulled 
itself together and tore through for long gains. It 
looked as if they had Exeter on the run. 

Then it was that Bull Fairchild, the ejected cap- 
tain, showed himself to be a sound sportsman at heart. 

163 


SONS OF ELI 


He consulted with Jerry Altemus, who was a Yale 
Senior and a prominent alumnus of Exeter, and asked 
his advice. 

“It’s not fair for us to play eleven men and a goat 
on our team,” said Fairchild, who was very unhappy. 
“ Exeter had us licked when the goat butted into the 
game. That full-back of theirs has gone all to pieces.” 

“I was hoping you would feel this way,” replied 
Jerry with a friendly smile. “It has been a poor per- 
formance for Yale men all the way through.” 

“My fault, most of it, Mr. Altemus,” doggedly af- 
firmed the captain. “I stirred up a lot of nasty feel- 
ing, and Fm awfully sore on myself.” 

“What do you suggest, Fairchild?” 

“That we stop the game and call it off. The Fresh- 
men can score another touch-down or two — it’s a cinch 
with the Exeter full-back up in the air, but I don’t 
want to win a game that way.” 

“Bully for you!” cried Jerry. “Shall I propose it, 
or will you speak to the Exeter captain?” 

“I guess I had better have it out with Slugger 
Hammill,” muttered the fighting Freshman. 

Presently the curious crowd beheld the two cap- 
tains meet and earnestly converse. Instead of squar- 
ing off at each other, they exchanged stumbling apol- 
ogies and shook hands. Then each called his team 
from the field and explained the reason. At this dis- 
play of chivalrous spirit, the personally conducted 
excursion of Perley Hotchkiss regretted its behavior 
and cheered for both captains and their elevens, with 
164 


GETTING HIS GOAT 


no mention of the goat. Perley did not lead the 
chorus, however, for a friend had presented him to an 
uncommonly pretty slip of a girl who wore Exeter 
colors. It was all over with Perley, and she did not 
dislike him, for they strolled in the direction of the 
gate and left the game to its fate. The lad who sat 
beside Jerry Altemus stared with open mouth and 
confided: 

“Say, could you beat it? There goes the girl that 
Bull Fairchild and Slugger Hammill scrapped over. 
She walks off with a new one.” 

“Accept it as a warning,” Jerry told him. 

The atmosphere had been cleared of its unseemly 
bickering and quarrelsome spirit. It occurred to the 
older Exeter lads to give a supper for the two elevens 
and the visiting Freshmen and alumni. They hired a 
hall and a caterer in a great hurry. It was a sort of 
impromptu demonstration whose purpose was to bury 
the hatchet with due form and ceremony. Jerry Alte- 
mus may have had something to do with instigating 
the love-feast, and it is fair to surmise that he helped 
foot the bills. All these fine lads were in a mood of 
repentance. It was as though they had awakened 
from an unhappy dream. There was no longer a 
break in the cordial relations that had always existed 
between the ancient school and the older college. 

There were speeches by the two captains, who ap- 
peared rather awkward and chagrined. They sat 
side by side and discovered that life held many things 
more important than girls. Mr. Jerry Altemus made 
165 


SONS OF ELI 

a graceful toastmaster, and, in conclusion, he had this 
to say: 

“In my opinion, both teams won to-day’s game. It 
was a much more satisfactory finish than if the score 
had decided it. In that event you would have con- 
tinued to dislike and misunderstand each other. Now 
we are all good sportsmen together, and we have 
found out that the code of honor and fair play is the 
biggest thing in athletics. I feel that we are under 
obligations to the goat.” 

There was a scuffle in the hall, and three Freshmen 
hauled in the object of this eulogy. His horns were 
now wreathed with the colors of Exeter and Yale inter- 
twined. He was persuaded to make the circuit of the 
room, and was then presented to his former owner, 
Jim Stone, the full-back, who seemed ungrateful. 
Perley Hotchkiss was flushed and tremulous with ex- 
citement when called upon for a few remarks, but he 
managed to stammer: 

“Our c-crowd has an apology to offer. It was 
s-shabby of us to rattle the full-back with that cheer 
we invented, about g-getting his g-goat. Of course, 
it did strike us as awfully f-funny. We started from 
New Haven with a p-pig in a crate, and we arrived 
with a g-goat, and I guess it was a fortunate swap. 
Now, F-freshmen, a long cheer for Exeter, and then 
we’ll sing: ‘For they are jolly, good f-fellows.’” 

When the pleasant evening ended, Perley was about 
to lead his companions to the live-stock car, but Jerry 
Altemus intervened. He was not ready to confess, 


GETTING HIS GOAT 


but he could try to square his conscience. Leading 
Perley aside, he informed him: 

“It will be no fun to go back to New Haven in a 
freight- train. The novelty has worn off. You fellows 
have behaved well, and you are a credit to Yale. 
Spend the night here, some of you at the hotel, and the 
rest in the school dormitories. The boys will be glad 
to take care of you. To-morrow morning you can go 
through to New Haven in parlor-cars. The tickets will 
be at the station. Oh, bother your thanks ! The ex- 
pense will be met by anonymous friends. ” 

“We’re g-game to go home by freight, Mr. Alte- 
mus, ,, protested Perley. “I never heard of such 
g-generosity.” 

“Well, it’s not exactly that,” said Jerry, with a 
shrug. “By the way, have you any theory to account 
for the disappearance of the pig in the crate?” 

“Not the slightest idea, Mr. Altemus. What do 
you t-think about it?” 

“It gets my goat, Perley,” was the earnest verdict 
of Jeremiah Altemus, junior. 


167 


THE INDIAN 


Antonio Colorado was a genuine red man and a 
Sophomore at Yale. He was readily distinguished 
from the so-called “Indians” of the campus who were 
merely exuberant youths inclined to seek the war- 
path whenever an athletic victory offered an excuse, 
and who were liable to be caught by the faculty if they 
didn’t watch out. Antonio had spent several years 
at Carlisle, learning a trade and expecting to work 
among his own kind on a reservation. The patron 
who had befriended him decided otherwise, however, 
and a tutor was engaged to fit him for college. A 
leisurely period of study and travel, and this keen- 
witted son of the Sioux passed the examinations with 
ease. 

As a Freshman he was a novelty, distinctly a sensa- 
tion; but this feeling wore off until he was carelessly 
taken for granted as one of the crowd. The straight 
black hair, the coppery complexion, the high cheek- 
bones suggested the savage ancestry of Antonio Col- 
orado, but here the likeness stopped short. His man- 
ners were suave and gracious. They fitted him per- 
fectly. He was sure of himself in any company, with 
none of the gruff taciturnity of his race. Some distant 
strain of Spanish blood may have accounted for this, 
168 


THE INDIAN 


as well as for his undeniable good looks. Lithe and 
tall, he was a figure to command attention, a native 
American, true to the Fenimore Cooper tradition. 

Fred Varney, captain of the Yale eleven, was a man 
of a morose disposition and strong dislikes, which he 
made no effort to dissemble. His greeting was far 
from cordial when Antonio presented himself at the 
football-field. The latter affected not to notice the 
rebuff, and his polished courtesy was unruffled as he 
said: 

“ Any objection to my joining one of the scrub teams, 
Varney, and playing for the fun of it?” 

“Suit yourself,” was the indignant reply. “Were 
you on the Carlisle eleven ? I don’t recall your name.” 

“Nothing more than a substitute. I couldn’t go 
out regularly. I was taking extra courses and doing 
a lot of shop work. There is more leisure at Yale. 
I shall go in for athletics a bit.” 

Varney made no comment, but turned to speak to 
a friend. Antonio glanced at him with an expression 
of subtle amusement, and his shrug was even more 
eloquent. It was quite obvious that the gaunt, silent 
Yale captain was prejudiced against Indians in gen- 
eral, and against Antonio Colorado in particular. 
The varsity squad was for palefaces only. Here was 
a recruit, however, who could not be so easily disre- 
garded, for he had the mind and the physique of an 
uncommon athlete. 

It was Fred Varney’s second year as captain, a rare 
honor, and he played his usual position at one end of 
169 


SONS OF ELI 


the line. For the other end, there were several can- 
didates, and among them Antonio flashed into prom- 
inence after a week’s practice. Grudgingly Varney 
realized that the Sioux was to be taken seriously, and 
he shifted him to the second eleven for the daily tussle 
against the picked men of the varsity formation. 

It was Varney’s arrangement that Antonio and he 
should face each other as end rushers during this early 
season of trial and experiment. The Indian was fast 
and brilliant and showy, but the cynical captain 
doubted his courage and proposed to give him a 
double dose of medicine. The college soon became 
interested in what was a desperate duel of wits and 
strength and fleetness. These two clashed as if some 
personal issue were at stake, the emaciated, round- 
shouldered captain, with his pallid, saturnine face, 
who looked like an invalid and tackled like a demon; 
and the handsome red man, clean-built and graceful, 
all vivacious alertness and reckless energy. Tempera- 
mentally Varney was far more like the stolid, unsmiling 
Indian of fiction. 

It was in the dressing-room, after a bruising hour of 
practice, that Bob Sedgwick, the guard, said to the 
captain: 

“The Kilkenny cats had nothing on you and this 
Sioux person, Fred. Far be it from me to butt in, but 
isn’t he good enough to be put into the regular line-up? 
The coaches think so. I heard them discussing it 
yesterday. With you as one end and Antonio as the 
other, the combination ought to be unbeatable.” 


THE INDIAN 


Varney paused before stepping into a shower-bath 
and growled with emphasis: 

“I’m the man to say who plays on this team. And 
I don’t expect the coaches to interfere. I never had 
any use for niggers and Indians. Do you get that?” 

“But that is foolish,” persisted Sedgwick. “This is 
no question of drawing the color-line. This man is 
your social equal, or mine. I suppose you believe the 
only good Indian is a dead one, so you are hoping to 
lay him out cold on the football-field.” 

Varney grinned at this, and permitted himself to 
reply: “I am sort of anxious to find out which is the 
better man, Bob. I can’t help hating the darned cuss, 
and there are days when he comes pretty near playing 
me off my feet.” 

“It will be the undertaker’s wagon for two if you 
don’t call it off,” was Sedgwick’s cheerful comment. 

Until now, this pair of adversaries had kept their 
tempers under control. The game they played was 
hard and rough, and their end of the line was no place 
for children; but it was football all the time. When 
Varney tackled the Indian, or vice versa, it was not a 
gentle collision. The victim smote the turf as though 
he had been dropped from the roof of a skyscraper. 
And a cut lip or a barked nose or black eye suggested 
that a fist instead of an open hand might have been 
used in the heat of a scrimmage. It was give-and- 
take, however, and no foul tactics. They were too 
shrewdly intent on the game to be diverted by the 
personal equation. 


SONS OF ELI 


There came an afternoon, however, when this rivalry 
flamed into an open quarrel. The ban of secret prac- 
tice was removed in order that the undergraduates 
might see their team in action. They trooped to the 
field two thousand strong, led by a brass band, and 
were eager to cheer themselves breathless. Varney 
decided to drive his men through four full periods at 
top speed against the strongest second eleven that 
could be mustered. It was to be a merciless test that 
should expose any vital flaws. 

The first few minutes of play were unlucky for the 
varsity side. A fumble and a bungled signal, and the 
second team swept down the field for an easy touch- 
down. While they had the jump, their deftest kicker 
proceeded to drop a goal from the field. In the opin- 
ion of the bleachers they were making a holy show 
of Fred Varney’s alleged champions. This did not 
sweeten the captain’s mood. The responsibility of 
pulling his team together impaired his efficiency as an 
end rush just enough to give Antonio Colorado the 
advantage of the argument. For the first time in his 
extraordinary career, Fred Varney was unmistakably 
outplayed. 

It was a matter which affected him more than it did 
the spectators, who were pleased to discover that in 
Antonio Colorado the coaches had developed so for- 
midable a man for the other end of the Yale line, a 
fit mate for the great Varney. They applauded the 
pair impartially. 

Presently the varsity full-back lifted a long punt 
172 


THE INDIAN 


deep into the enemy’s territory. Varney eluded the 
Indian, who endeavored to block him, and followed 
the kick down the field, running with that deceptive, 
slouching gait which would have covered a hundred 
yards in close to even time. The player who stood 
waiting to catch the punt misjudged its flight, and the 
ball slipped through his arms and took an erratic 
bound. Varney turned in his headlong course and 
dived after it. For an instant the field was clear to 
the goal, but the muddy field was treacherous, and be- 
fore he could regain a footing the speediest of the foe- 
men were almost upon him. 

One of these he dodged, but the effort made him 
stumble, and he sprawled his length, rolling over and 
over. Just then Antonio Colorado, sprinting like a 
wild man, his black hair dishevelled, knocked the var- 
sity quarter-back out of the way with a thrust of his 
shoulder, and hurled himself at Varney to pin him 
before he could wriggle onward or scramble to his feet. 
It was difficult to perceive precisely what happened 
when they came together. The Sioux appeared to try 
to check himself ; but he, too, slipped in the last stride, 
and, instead of flinging his arms around Varney, he 
drove into him with both knees. 

The Yale captain was prostrate at that instant, his 
face uppermost, the ball hugged to his chest. The 
impact of Antonio’s knees was terrific, and they struck 
Varney in the stomach. He groaned once and lay all 
limp and relaxed, his eyes closed. The game was 
halted, and the trainer and a doctor pushed through 
i73 


SONS OF ELI 


the distressed crowd of players. It was no uncom- 
mon mishap for a man to have the wind knocked out 
of him, but this seemed more serious, and it was 
feared that Varney might have suffered some internal 
injury. He was carried from the field, still uncon- 
scious, and placed in an automobile; but just before 
the driver started for the hospital he came to himself 
and muttered, in his grim fashion: 

“ What’s this nonsense? I’m all right. The In- 
dian tried to get me, but he didn’t jump on me hard 
enough.” 

Antonio was anxiously hovering near by, and he 
hastily exclaimed, with manifest emotion: 

“It was an accident, Varney. I give you my word 
of honor. I meant to make a*fair tackle, but I tripped 
and lost my balance. I fell on top of you. It may 
have looked like a dirty trick, but I wouldn’t have 
done it purposely for anything in the world.” 

“It was an Indian trick,” rasped Varney, in a faint 
voice, his face twisting with pain. “I won’t forget 
it. You and your apologies can go to blazes.” 

The coaches dismissed the two teams for the after- 
noon, and the army of undergraduates trailed back to 
the campus in a humor sadly subdued, the brass band 
silent. The feeling toward Antonio was not altogether 
hostile. He had many friends who were ready to 
accept his explanation; while, on the other hand, 
Fred Varney had none of the qualities of popularity. 
A sense of fair play made many inclined to suspend 
judgment; but there was enough bitter partisanship 
174 


THE INDIAN 


aroused to divide the campus into factions. Varney’s 
adherents refused to speak to Antonio, and at the var- 
sity training-table there was a display of dissension 
which the coaches tried to suppress. 

It was the sort of question that could be thrashed 
out indefinitely. One man’s opinion was as good as 
another’s. Either there had been a cold-blooded at- 
tempt to cripple the Yale captain, or Antonio told the 
truth. Meanwhile, the victim proved that nothing 
more than his wind had been damaged by insisting on 
returning to his own rooms after one night in the hos- 
pital. For three days he watched the practice from 
the side-lines, and then plunged into the fray again. 

It was time to choose the men who should comprise 
the varsity eleven and begin drilling them to work 
together. Antonio was promoted from the second 
team and given the place which he had earned beyond 
dispute. This separated him from Varney and ended 
their daily warfare. The captain was too honest to 
deny the Indian the honor of winning his “Y.” The 
welfare of the college was given first place, but the 
private grudge still smouldered. 

Bob Sedgwick had maintained a fine neutrality. 
He was intensely loyal to Varney, and knew the ster- 
ling worth behind the morose, unlovely demeanor; but 
he had also learned to like immensely the engaging 
Antonio. The latter took his trouble greatly to heart, 
and was so sensitive to the outcry against him that 
he was moved to confide in Sedgwick. 

They had walked from the training-table across the 
T 75 


SONS OF ELI 


campus after supper, and Sedgwick suggested that they 
loaf in his rooms before buckling down to the evening’s 
hard study. Antonio accepted gratefully, breaking a 
pensive silence. Seated in a large chair before the 
fireplace, he stared at the coals and rested his chin in 
his hands. Sedgwick eyed him curiously. It was very 
hard for him to realize that this affable, cultivated 
Sophomore could be no more than one generation re- 
moved from the squalid barbarism of the followers of 
Sitting Bull. It was as though Antonio read his com- 
panion’s thoughts, for he said at length, his voice like 
one who talked to himself: 

“Yale is a lonesome place at times for my kind of 
man. I fancied I was getting on fairly well until this 
affair flew up and hit me in the face. A lot of the 
fellows would like to chase me back to the reserva- 
tion, among the blanket Indians. My word of honor 
isn’t as good as a white man’s. They honestly believe 
I meant to hurt Varney.” 

“Some of us don’t,” Sedgwick assured him. “Buck 
up, Antonio, my boy. You will live it down. Var- 
ney has held an unfortunate grouch against you from 
the start, and that influences quite a few. He is the 
original human sour ball. We all know that.” 

Antonio got out of the chair and paced the room, 
his tread light and quick. His dark eyes burned as 
he exclaimed, flinging out an arm: 

“I want you to promise to keep this to yourself, 
Sedgwick, unless this trouble drives me out of college. 
Then you can tell it, if you like. Thanks. Your 
176 


THE INDIAN 


word is enough. Varney hates and despises me be- 
cause I am an Indian ? Good God ! Haven’t I rea- 
son to hate him and all of his blood? But haven’t I 
fought him fair and square, on the level ? Dirty foot- 
ball? If I had meant to hurt him, couldn’t I have 
done it a dozen times, at the bottom of a scrimmage, 
when nobody would have found it out ? Would I have 
waited until we were in the open field with all the 
college looking on?” 

“That sounds reasonable to me,” quietly answered 
Sedgwick, who was perplexed by this vehement out- 
burst, and failed to comprehend the drift of it. He 
asked : 

“What the deuce do you mean by saying you have 
reason to hate Varney and all his blood? Is there 
something more to it than football?” 

“Yes, considerably more,” replied Antonio, again 
the master of himself. “As a rule, I don’t bore peo- 
ple with the story of my life. Some of it I wish I 
could forget. My family was wiped out when I was 
a baby. It happened at Wounded Knee Creek, on 
the Pine Ridge Agency. It was the last Indian fight 
in the West, though a good many white people con- 
sidered it a massacre. The soldiers couldn’t stop at 
killing Sioux warriors. They were so brave that they 
hacked their way through the camp of our women and 
children and cut them to pieces. That is how my 
mother died. She had covered me with her own body, 
her tiny papoose, when a cavalry sabre slashed her to 
death. There was another soldier who must have had 


177 


SONS OF ELI 


little children at home. He tied me to his saddle and 
left me at the agency.” 

Sedgwick shivered and knew not what to say. The 
curtain of tragedy had been lifted, and the glimpse 
bewildered him. Antonio Colorado showed no anger. 
His demeanor was sombre and impersonal as he con- 
tinued: 

“The charge of the soldiers was led by a captain 
whose name was Varney. He went on the retired list 
as a major-general not long ago. His only experience 
in action was that morning when he led the men who 
killed my mother.” 

“And he is related to Fred Varney ?” queried Sedg- 
wick. 

“He is Fred Varney’s father,” curtly replied An- 
tonio, the Sioux, as he halted in his stride. 

“Great Scott, could you beat it!” was the inade- 
quate comment. “I’m awfully sorry, old man. It’s 
the queerest coincidence I ever heard of. Imagine 
your carrying this information around with you and 
standing up to Fred every day on the football-field! 
Whew, you certainly know how to keep a grip on 
yourself! I always supposed Indians hung onto a 
grudge like grim death.” 

The smile on Antonio was inscrutable. Bob Sedg- 
wick, boyish and careless, was a stranger to deep emo- 
tions. He could not understand this man of an alien 
race. 

“From your people I have learned a few things of 
value,” softly spoke the Sioux. “The rules of the game 
178 


THE INDIAN 


are different from ours. There is a very old saying 
called the Golden Rule. Perhaps it is better than the 
code of the Sioux, which is an eye for an eye and a 
tooth for a tooth. I do not mean to preach.” 

“Some sermon, nevertheless!” was the hearty trib- 
ute. “They seldom get them across any better in 
Sunday chapel. Whew, and I thought it was nothing 
more than a football feud ! Does Fred Varney know 
who you are? I mean to say, has he any idea that 
you were rescued from that frightful mess at Wounded 
Knee?” 

“I’m sure he knows nothing about me. How could 
he, Sedgwick ? It was a mighty trifling episode in the 
last stand of the fighting Sioux. It was years before 
I knew the story myself, from survivors who were kin- 
folk of mine. I was just an orphan ward of the gov- 
ernment. Even my Indian name was lost. Somebody 
called me Antonio, and I tacked on the Colorado be- 
cause I liked the sound of it. At one of the Carlisle 
commencements I met a New York man, one of the 
board of visitors, and he took an interest in me. You 
know the rest. Varney’s hatred is rather odd, in a 
way. People have been very decent to me, as a 
rule, even when they didn’t fancy the color of my 
skin.” 

“It may have been transmitted from father to son,” 
suggested the other. “That sort of thing does happen, 
you know. Perhaps Fred inherited this trait, or what- 
ever you call it. I met the old gentleman, General 
Varney, last year. He is an amiable party, not in 
179 


SONS OF ELI 

the least bloodthirsty. Walks with a cane — a stiff 
knee, I imagine.” 

“ A Sioux bullet did that,” grimly explained Antonio. 
“Well, I’m glad you have some faith in me. It helps. 
There are men in my own Sophomore class who hiss 
me whenever I go on the field with the team. Try to 
hurt Varney by any such clumsy tactics as ramming 
my knees into him? Why, if I were the. bad Indian 
they think I am, he would have been shy his scalp 
before now.” 

The next day after this interview Sedgwick received 
a telegram which called for instant action. He had no 
more time to reflect on the unhappy situation of 
Antonio. Miss Kitty Lombard had come from the 
West to pillage the shops of Fifth Avenue and make a 
round of visits among the friends who adored her. 
She was Bob Sedgwick’s favorite cousin, and she now 
announced her intention of invading the Yale campus 
escorted by a chaperon borrowed for the pilgrimage. 
There was sure to be something doing when the viva- 
cious Kitty favored a place with her presence, reflected 
Bob, and here he was a slave to football in every spare 
hour of the day, and too dead tired at night to budge 
from his rooms. 

The wording of the telegram was imperious, how- 
ever, and the stalwart guard of the varsity eleven dis- 
played more agitation than if he were about to face 
embattled Harvard. Dashing across the campus, he 
pounced upon a young man of tremendous stature and 
a most placid manner. His parents called him Llew- 

180 


THE INDIAN 

ellyn Chalmers Jordan, but Sedgwick hailed him other- 
wise: 

“ Hello, ‘Sleepy Mike’ ! Glad news for you, so wake 
up and show some animation. You don’t really have 
to report for football practice, do you? It’s time you 
were canned, at any rate.” 

The rosy giant laid down a book, yawned, and 
sweetly replied: 

“I have done my duty, but the brute of a Varney 
damned me as a left-footed mastodon that was too 
slow to dodge a steam-roller. I play well only when 
I lose my temper, and that is very bad for the diges- 
tion. I shall not be missed. What’s the stunt, old 
top?” 

“You will move faster when I tell you. My cousin 
is due here this afternoon — her first appearance in 
New Haven. You met her in my town last year, and 
you didn’t seem to detest her.” 

Llewellyn Chalmers Jordan drew himself to his full 
height of some six feet four, expanded a fifty-inch 
chest in a sigh that created a draught in the room, 
and feelingly ejaculated: 

“Miss Kitty Lombard? A wonder, my boy! A 
dream! I have never been the same man since that 
experience. When I reached home for Christmas, 
after that stop-over with you, my fond parents became 
worried. I acted strangely, and my appetite was all 
shot. Instead of six boiled eggs and a steak for break- 
fast, I pecked at an orange and a spoonful of bird-seed.” 

“ Drivel ! Save it for Kitty,” said Sedgwick. “They 

181 


SONS OF ELI. 


all hand her that line of conversation. See here, I 
can’t possibly turn up at that train. I’ll be due at 
the field. Will you meet her? I am going to beat it 
over to the hotel and reserve rooms. Square it for 
me, and tell her I will run in before supper. I can’t 
quit the training- table, even for one meal.” 

“ Leave it all to me,” was the soothing response of 
young Mr. Jordan. “Your cousin will journey from 
the station in the classiest automobile that can be 
hired for money, and there will be fresh flowers in her 
rooms. I’m glad to oblige you, Bob. No trouble at 
all. You really mustn’t have Miss Lombard on your 
mind. Stick to football. As a personal conductor, 
I shall be strictly on the job.” 

Sedgwick’s gratitude was effusive, and he promptly 
fled for the gymnasium, where an hour of signal drill 
was to be inserted between two recitation periods. 
The lazy demeanor of Llewellyn Chalmers Jordan had 
vanished. And he was still exceedingly wide awake 
when the hour arrived for him to bedeck himself in 
his finest raiment and set forth in the shiniest and most 
glittering of limousines. Miss Kitty stepped from the 
train and looked about for her cousin Bob. Her air 
of disappointment gave way to a smile of amused sur- 
prise when she descried the titanic proportions of the 
enamored Sleepy Jordan, who proceeded to clear a 
wide path across the station platform, for the crowd 
of passengers, after one glance, gave him plenty of 
room. 

His bearing was a trifle flustered, but the girl ac- 

182 


THE INDIAN 


cepted his explanation with gracious thanks, and pre- 
sented her companion, Mrs. Shelton, an older sister of 
a school friend. It was too much to expect, said 
Kitty, that Bob should neglect football for anything 
so commonplace as a wandering cousin. To this Mr. 
Jordan gallantly protested that she was excuse enough 
to make any sane man willing to chuck up college. 
As he proudly convoyed them to the limousine, Kitty 
inquired, with marked interest: 

“And how is Mr. Fred Varney? So absorbed, I 
presume, that I can’t expect even a glimpse of him.” 

“Oh, you remember him, do you?” replied the co- 
lossus, perceptibly chagrined. “He hasn’t changed 
any. Full of chatter and human kindness, as usual — • 
the life of the party.” 

“How sarcastic you are, Mr. Jordan ! He is rather 
hard to talk to, I admit, and he takes a very gloomy 
view of things in general; but I like original people, 
and Mr. Varney is so extraordinarily different.” 

Thereupon he made himself agreeable to the chap- 
eron, while Miss Kitty reflected, the light of mischief 
in her eye, that this promised to be an entertaining 
visit. She presently invited Mr. Jordan to dine with 
them at the hotel, at which he beamed once more. 
He left them in the lobby, after a weighty conference 
with the office staff. It was to be inferred that he 
proposed to wreck the building if Bob Sedgwick’s 
cousin were not treated like a princess royal. 

Shortly after five o’clock Bob himself hurried in and 
found the ladies down-stairs. They were chatting in 
183 


SONS OF ELI 


the spacious lounging-room when Antonio Colorado 
paused to speak to a classmate while passing through 
to the desk. Cousin Kitty instantly took notice, and 
murmured excitedly: 

“Isn’t that the Indian who plays end rush on your 
team, Bob? I have seen his picture in the news- 
papers. He is perfectly stunning! Are you very 
chummy with him?” 

“We are good pals. Would you like to meet him? 
Shall I fetch him over?” 

“How nice of you! He isn’t the least bit like any 
Indian I ever saw in the West.” 

“There is only one Antonio. Don’t try any broken 
English on him, Kitty. He isn’t apt to say: ‘Ugh! 
Heap good squaw,’ or anything like that. Try a few 
samples of Bernard Shaw, Masefield, and Alfred Noyes, 
and watch him come back at you !” 

“How fascinating!” exclaimed the chaperon, who 
was a lion-hunter when on her native heath. She had 
swiftly pictured Mr. Antonio Colorado as a drawing- 
room sensation if she could beguile him to New York 
for a week-end. Sedgwick beckoned, and the Sioux 
approached with his light, graceful tread. The best 
tailor in New Haven made his clothes, and he knew 
how to wear them. He bowed over Kitty’s hand with 
the grave courtliness that is no more in fashion. They 
soon found so many things to discuss that Bob was 
marooned with the chaperon. It so happened that 
Kitty was a talented student of music, and the mention 
of Dvorak led Antonio to disclose his keen interest in 
184 


THE INDIAN 


the plaintive folk-songs of the Sioux people, and the 
more colorful love-ballads of the peons of the Mexican 
border. At Kitty’s persuasion, he promised to bring 
his guitar in the evening and acquaint her with some 
of these unwritten melodies. 

During supper, at the training-table, Sedgwick in- 
formed Captain Fred Varney that Miss Lombard was 
in town, and, no doubt, would be pleased to have him 
call. The silent athlete looked up sharply, nodded 
his thanks, and made no remark, although his face 
showed the faintest trace of color. Antonio regarded 
him with a flicker of amusement and discreetly with- 
held comment. It now occurred to the undiplomatic 
Sedgwick that he might have started something, and 
he felt distinctly uneasy. There was discord enough 
between the two end rushers without introducing a 
girl complication. 

“It’s Kitty’s fault,” sighed Bob to himself. “She 
has the knack of setting a place by the ears. She in- 
sisted on meeting Antonio. And if I hadn’t told Var- 
ney she was in town, he would have climbed all over 
me. I certainly hope she plays them along one at a 
time.” 

Meanwhile, at dinner in the hotel, Llewellyn Chal- 
mers Jordan held the centre of the stage, and flattered 
himself that he had forestalled all rivals. Kitty scolded 
him for his failure as a football hero, and he enjoyed 
it without shame. The chaperon was pensive and a 
little absent-minded. She was still a young and rea- 
sonably charming woman, married to a person who 
18s 


SONS OF ELI 


seemed to have been designed for the sole purpose of 
making money hand over fist. Who could blame her 
if the romantic figure of Antonio Colorado stirred her 
fancy ? 

Young Mr. Jordan later accompanied them to their 
sitting-room, unable to detach himself, even though 
he had a thesis to write. He was visibly annoyed 
when a card was brought up, followed by Antonio 
Colorado in evening clothes, and a guitar in a green 
bag. As Llewellyn Chalmers afterward explained it 
to his roommate, with some bitterness: 

“It was all off as soon as the smooth Sioux breezed 
in. Honestly, Bill, he is a real head-liner. I’ll have 
to hand it to him. He unlimbered that dam guitar 
of his and tossed off these Spanish ditties in a mellow 
barytone voice, and there was nothing for me to do 
but fade. No fear of Miss Lombard getting silly over 
him. She is too sensible for that. He’s a choice 
novelty. But that Mrs. Shelton, rather gushing type, 
don’t you know — say, Antonio had her going.” 

“Huh, you are a vast, sandless stuff,” said the room- 
mate. “Why didn’t you smash the guitar over his 
head and break the magic spell?” 

“Because I have watched him play football,” was the 
calm rejoinder. “Any lad who can play Fred Vamey 
to a standstill is the original catamount. Mix it up 
with that Indian? I am too valuable to my dear 
parents !” 

Bob Sedgwick had been delayed after supper, hav- 
ing an engagement with one of his professors. Fred 
186 


THE INDIAN 


Varney, however, had let nothing hinder him, aside 
from a brief conference with the coaches, and he 
reached the hotel shortly after the “fading” of Llewel- 
lyn Chalmers Jordan. When he walked into the 
sitting-room of the suite and most unexpectedly con- 
fronted Antonio and the guitar, the tableau was well 
worth observing. The ladies missed its significance, 
but were aware that something was amiss. Both men 
froze for the moment, Varney halting in his tracks, 
Antonio 1 smiling but alert as a hawk. At the training- 
table they met thrice daily as strangers, exchanging 
never a word; but here was a situation which de- 
manded a pretense of mutual courtesy, while at the 
same time the feminine factor was like a spark to make 
an explosion imminent. 

Varney was angry, but he masked his feeling and 
said, with a curt nod: 

“How are you, Antonio? Don’t let me interfere 
with the concert. Go to it!” 

The red man laid aside the guitar, and replied, with 
a suave gesture: 

“I have bored the ladies quite long enough. Some 
of these little tunes of mine interested the dean of the 
Yale Music School when we met at a reception not 
long ago. They are a sort of hobby with me, vanish- 
ing songs of a vanished people.” 

“I am so hoping that Mr. Colorado will permit me 
to announce a recital in New York,” eagerly exclaimed 
the chaperon. “Of course he never wears native cos- 
tume, but it would be so much more effective ” 

187 


SONS OF ELI 


“He is extremely effective in football costume,” 
artlessly interjected Kitty, at which Varney glowered 
so ferociously that she feared she had made a blunder. 
Heavens, thought she, if they couldn’t talk football, 
what on earth would be a safe topic to draw Mr. Var- 
ney into the conversation? Of course he must be a 
very capable young man, but she had never in her 
life met any one who was so economical with language. 
A happy inspiration came to her, and she turned to 
him to say: 

“Do you know, I had the honor of an introduction 
to your father, General Varney, on my way East. 
An uncle of mine met me in Chicago and took me out 
to luncheon. General Varney was at another table, 
and he came over and had coffee with us, and my 
uncle and they smoked perfectly tremendous cigars 
and talked so hard that I couldn’t get in a word edge- 
wise. They have been friends for years and years.” 

Fred Varney was no longer morose. His face glowed 
with feeling. Pride and affection were uppermost as 
he exclaimed: 

“The kindest, bravest man God ever made ! Why, 
this is like getting a letter from home, Miss Lombard. 
Was he looking well? He was feeble when I left 
home in September.” 

“He seemed quite lame, but in the best of spirits. 
I thought he was a perfect old dear. I quite lost my 
heart to him. Such a distinguished appearance, the 
beau-ideal of a soldier.” 

Antonio Colorado sat very straight in his chair, 
188 


THE INDIAN 


outwardly composed, punctiliously attentive. His 
fortitude was akin to that of his forebears when tor- 
tured at the stake. Once or twice his straight lips 
quivered and his strong fingers stirred restlessly. The 
chaperon prattled in his ear, and he answered mechan- 
ically, but his eyes never once wandered from the face 
of Fred Varney. The girl, so tragically innocent of 
what her words conveyed to Antonio, was saying: 

“I was dying to hear some of his yams of service 
on the frontier, but my uncle gave me no chance. I 
suppose you have heard them all, Mr. Varney.” 

“They used to scare me half to death when I was a 
little shaver,” replied the football captain. He glanced 
at Antonio, perceiving that at this rate they would be 
discussing things which had better be avoided. Gen- 
eral Varney had won his reputation as an Indian 
fighter. The impetuous Kitty was not warned in 
time. Somehow it did not occur to her that Antonio 
Colorado might find the subject painful. He had im- 
pressed her as so much more the Yale man and the 
gentleman than as the Sioux that she could not realize 
that his own father’s generation had defied the United 
States army. Heedlessly she hurried the situation 
toward the climax by exclaiming: 

“My uncle told me that General Vamey won the 
Congressional Medal of Honor when he was a captain 
of cavalry. It was for valor at the battle of Wounded 
Knee ” 

In his chair, Antonio Colorado suddenly strained 
forward, his hands clinched, and he uttered a sound 
189 


SONS OF ELI 


like a smothered sob. For an instant his face blazed 
with passion. He had ceased to be the careless Sopho- 
more, the gay troubadour, the finished product, and 
was the red Sioux, the son of a chief who rode with 
Sitting Bull. The revelation was momentary, how- 
ever, and as though he had bethought himself of his 
duty to the girl whose guest he was, he held himself 
in hand. Making an excuse, he said his adieus, carry- 
ing it off with an air of quiet self-possession. 

Kitty was contrite and somewhat puzzled, declar- 
ing that she should have known better than to drag 
in General Varney, for, of course, Mr. Antonio Colorado 
would naturally side with the Indians. For a second 
she had thought he was about to bound up in the air 
and emit a blood-curdling war-whoop. His expression 
made her shudder. The chaperon had been deli- 
ciously thrilled. She did not wish her Indians to be 
too tame. This fascinating specimen had an elemental 
streak in him, after all. Fred Varney had no comment 
to offer, and Bob Sedgwick wisely held his peace. 

The ladies were disappointed when Antonio came no 
more to the hotel nor was visible on the campus. They 
went out to the football-field and watched the practice, 
beholding him in action. Fred Varney found time to 
join them between the periods of play, but the Indian 
stayed with his battered comrades. Miss Kitty was 
piqued. She was not accustomed to being avoided in 
this pointed manner. The truth was that two different 
motives accounted for the behavior of Antonio. He 
had conceived a great admiration for the girl, and he 


THE INDIAN 


dared not let himself get in any deeper. She was not 
for a man of his race. The barrier was impassable. 
Besides this, he was unwilling to risk another encoun- 
ter with Fred Varney in her presence. Jealousy had 
added inflammable fuel to the feud. 

Bob Sedgwick learned with interest that Kitty 
planned to return to New Haven for the Princeton 
game. Her uncle was a rabid alumnus of old Yale, 
and he found a plausible pretext for a business trip to 
New York every autumn. Now Llewellyn Chalmers 
Jordan would have begged her on bended knee to go to 
the game with him, but he had completely lost his 
nerve after being routed by Antonio and the guitar, 
and he moped so disconsolately that his roommate 
threatened to get a divorce. 

This game with Princeton was one of the last great 
contests played on the old Yale field before that 
mighty concrete amphitheatre called The Bowl was 
built to match the enduring architecture of Rome. 
Around the white-lined quadrangle of turf were ter- 
raced the huge wooden stands upon which thirty thou- 
sand people massed themselves to prove that football 
was the most popular course in the college curriculum. 
The sons of old Nassau came like an army with ban- 
ners, confident that this was Princeton's year. Fred 
Varney, veteran of three seasons' campaigns, expressed 
no opinion when the Yale coaches became optimistic. 
So far as he was concerned, it was all in the day's work. 

His father had made up his mind to see the game, 
after another genial session in Chicago with Miss 


SONS OF ELI 


Kitty’s uncle, whose enthusiasm was irresistible. 
These elderly chums made the journey together, and 
found Kitty in New York, a loyal Yale girl whose 
violets and blue ribbons flaunted her allegiance. It 
was a jolly party of three that survived the crush and 
tumult of the journey to the Yale field. 

The Princeton strategy was built around a dashing 
programme of end runs and forward passes because 
the rush-line was not heavy enough for a consistent 
attack. It was soon apparent that the most vital 
factors of the Yale defense were Captain Varney and 
Antonio Colorado. They were so splendidly fitted for 
the task, however, that there was little uneasiness 
among the Yale cohorts, who considered the Princeton 
policy futile. 

Opposed to Antonio was a slashing chap of a hun- 
dred and ninety pounds, uncommonly heavy for an 
end rush, but quick and viciously aggressive. In burly 
strength he overmatched Antonio, but the Indian 
managed to outwit him until there came another 
Princeton attempt at an end nm. It formed behind 
beautifully organized interference and surged toward 
the vigilant Antonio, who coolly waited his chance to 
sift through and drag the runner down. At the critical 
instant, his opponent, failing to thwart him by fair 
means, caught him by one arm and jerked him to the 
ground. It was a flagrant violation of the rules, but 
in the confusion the officials failed to observe it. 

Unchecked, therefore, the Princeton half-back 
skirted the end of the Yale line, and his interference, 
192 


THE INDIAN 


in full stride, swung in a long slant toward the goal. 
Two Yale men, the last outposts of defense, failed to 
smash through and halt the ball. A wonderfully 
spectacular forty-yard dash, and Princeton had scored 
the first points of the game. Fred Varney, picking 
himself up from where he had been flung, walked over 
to Antonio and said in a low voice whose accents were 
unsteady: 

“You did that, you hound! You’re afraid of that 
big Princeton end. Lay down again and I’ll kick you 
out of the game. I always thought you had a yellow 
streak.” 

“He held me. You didn’t happen to see it,” was 
the reply, spoken with an air of brooding detachment, 
as though insults in an hour like this were too trivial 
to notice. The players were mere cogs of the football 
machine. Varney bit his lip, stood gazing at the 
ground for a moment, and moved away, his demeanor 
suggesting that he was not wholly pleased with him- 
self. 

His dogged, unbeatable spirit now set in motion a 
Yale assault which carried the ball forward in short 
rushes, like the incessant blows of a battering-ram. 
Princeton fell back unbroken, fighting over every foot 
of turf, until the shadow of the goal-posts fell across 
the conflict. Swaying and interlocked, the rush lines 
struggled until the final Yale thrust gained the few 
inches needed, and the touch-down was achieved. 

It was at great cost, for when the heap of men was 
disentangled, Fred Varney was pulled out with a 
193 


SONS OF ELI 


twisted ankle. He thrust aside the comrades who held 
him up, and tried to hobble to his place, but the effort 
was pitiful. He sank down, and realized that he 
must be taken out of the game. He beckoned Bob 
Sedgwick, who was to act as captain in his stead, and 
gave him a few instructions. A substitute flung aside 
a blanket and scampered from the side-line. Varney 
was made comfortable on a bench among the coaches, 
and the game went on without him. 

After two periods had been played, the score re- 
mained a tie. During the intermission the rival mul- 
titudes hurled songs and cheers across the field. By 
way of refreshment, cigars and cigarettes were lighted, 
although warning signs were posted everywhere, and 
uniformed firemen patrolled the inflammable wooden 
stands. It was a well-bred, intelligent American 
crowd, characteristically lawless, and disregarding 
danger. Good fortune had averted disaster heretofore, 
and the anxious management could only pray for the 
continued favor of the gods. 

Somebody dropped the stub of a cigarette from his 
fingers, and assumed that it fell to the ground through 
an open space between the rows of plank seats. It 
lodged in a crumpled newspaper, however, and a small 
flame licked the splintered end of a dry pine joist. A 
snap and crackle and the hungry blaze ran to another 
timber, and so was fairly under way among the under- 
pinning and braces of the towering stand. The draught 
carried the blue smoke upward. The panic was what 
might have been expected. 

194 


THE INDIAN 


Caught in the very vortex of this human whirlpool 
and directly above the stifling conflagration were Kitty 
Lombard and her uncle and General Varney. Of these, 
the old soldier deserved the most compassion, for he was 
too infirm to escape unless aided. The dauntless girl 
refused to leave him, and besought her neighbors to 
lend a hand while her uncle tried to shield her from 
being trampled underfoot in the frantic exodus. In 
this brief interval of delay, these three were a little 
isolated, enough to be recognizable from the football- 
field, and their pitiful dilemma comprehended. 

Even before he saw them, Fred Varney made a 
desperate attempt to hobble toward the burning stand, 
but his twisted ankle let him down and other men 
stumbled over him. It was Antonio Colorado who 
moved faster than any of his comrades. They were 
brave and willing, but seemed bedazed. He was not 
so much an athlete in full speed as a human projectile 
which ripped through the mob or ricoclietted over it. 
He took the outer railing without touching it, seemed 
to shoot at full length on the top of convenient heads 
and shoulders, dived and came up again, rammed a 
passage for a few feet, and got his hands on the wooden 
barricade in front of the lowest row of seats. Here, 
he found a cleared space where the timbers burned 
furiously and the smoke was a choking fog. He 
swerved not, but climbed straight ahead. The plank- 
ing gave way, but he caught and swung and hauled 
himself out of the hole. 

A few yards more and in the smoke he found those 
195 


SONS OF ELI 


whom he sought. Was it his intention to save the 
girl, and so satisfy the demands of romance? No, 
for she was young and vigorous, and could easily escape 
if unimpeded. Gruffly he commanded her uncle to 
take her beyond reach of the fire and wait until the 
crowd thinned or came to its senses. General Varney 
sat erect, his two hands clasped upon the head of his 
cane. He was facing his finish like a soldier. Antonio 
seemed to swoop down at him. A heave and a swing, 
and the Indian was carrying Fred Varney’s father upon 
his back. 

Bent beneath the burden, but sure and supple of 
movement, Antonio clambered to the higher rows of 
seats where the wind blew the smoke aside and the 
structure was still strong. Barely had he quitted the 
place where he had found General Varney than it col- 
lapsed with a shower of sparks and embers, and the 
gap disclosed a sheer drop of twenty feet into a fiery 
furnace. Slowly Antonio picked his way along the 
uppermost tier until he was able to descend without 
risk. Both football teams had charged the crowd in 
a flying wedge, and were hauling out those who 
needed help. The police were getting the upper hand 
of the panic, and the firemen were able to prevent 
the blaze from spreading to the adjoining sections of 
the stand. 

The multitude had flowed out on the playing-field 
as a torrent floods over a dam. Wild rumor asserted 
that dozens of men and women had lost their lives. 
This was untrue, but there were broken legs and arms, 

196 


THE INDIAN 


contusions and nervous shocks to keep the ambulances 
busy, and there was no thought of resuming the foot- 
ball game. By the time the field was cleared and the 
injured removed, the autumn afternoon was waning 
toward twilight. By mutual consent, Yale and Prince- 
ton called the contest a drawn battle. 

Bob Sedgwick sent General Varney and his son into 
New Haven together, one of the coaches who was a 
physician riding with them and promising to see that 
every attention was given them at the hotel. Miss 
Kitty was unharmed, and insisted on waiting until 
she could interview her cousin Bob. 

“Mr. Antonio Colorado didn’t even take the trouble 
to find out whether I am alive or dead,” said she. 
“He just shooed me away and grabbed poor General 
Varney. Don’t you suppose he intends to call before 
I leave town to-morrow?” 

“You guess wrong, Kitty,” answered Bob. “He 
ran around like a lunatic until he got a glimpse of you 
out here on the field, all right and smiling. As for 
calling on you, I’m afraid Antonio doesn’t feel fit. He 
burned his hands and barked his shins, and his pipes 
are full of smoke. He was all in when he dragged 
himself to the dressing-room. However, I’ll deliver 
your message. Peeved because he didn’t play you as 
the heroine?” 

“Of course not,” flashed Kitty. “How dare you! 
It was the finest deed I ever saw in my life. But— but 
I can’t help wishing he wasn’t a Sioux.” 

“Hum-m! So that’s the trouble? If you don’t 


197 


SONS OF ELI 


see Antonio again, maybe you have named the reason. 
Perhaps he has been thinking the same thing.” 

When Sedgwick entered the dressing-room, Antonio 
sat on a bench in his football clothes. His attitude 
was dejected and weary, his expression haggard. 
Sedgwick laid a hand on his shoulder and warmly ex- 
claimed: 

“The game was a tie, but you win ! How you could 
forgive and forget is beyond me.” 

The Sioux raised his head, and his countenance was 
illumined by some profound emotion beyond the ken 
of the unimaginative Anglo-Saxon. 
k “It may have been my idea of revenge. They say 
the Indian’s mind moves in crooked paths,” said An- 
tonio Colorado, and his voice was full and deep; “or 
possibly the Christ that your race has discarded as a 
living presence may have spoken His message to the 
heart of a Sioux.” 

“You have shown me what it is to be a Christian 
gentleman and a Yale man,” replied Sedgwick, who 
was somewhat awed. “You will give Fred Varney a 
chance to apologize, won’t you, Antonio? He is sim- 
ply broken-hearted over the way he used you. He 
begged me to tell you so when I lifted him into a car.” 

“I will see him — after his father goes,” said the In- 
dian. “I am inclined to think there will be no more 
trouble between us. My own grudge was wiped 
clean this afternoon, and the old account is squared.” 


THE VENGEANCE OF ANTONIO 


When a young man has been three years out of 
Yale he hearkens to the call that summons him back 
to the campus for a reunion of his class. This Tri- 
ennial of his is not a sedate affair. At five and twenty 
years he is a long way from the dignified jog-trot of 
middle age, and although the harsh, unfeeling world 
has dealt him many an uppercut, it has not tamed his 
exuberance. During these festive occasions it is 
customary for him to wear a uniform, distinctive and 
fantastic. 

The reunion committee of a certain class had de- 
creed that its celebrants should be arrayed as Indians, 
after a fierce discussion, in which a minority favored 
either kilted Highlanders or jockeys bestriding little 
wooden hobby-horses. It, therefore, so happened that 
commencement week at New Haven was enlivened by 
the antics of two hundred braves in feathered head- 
dresses, beaded shirts, fringed trousers of imitation 
buckskin, and yellow moccasins. They waved their 
tomahawks, danced on the green, paraded frequently, 
and uttered shrill and frenzied war-whoops at all hours 
of the night and day. A private dormitory had been 
rented as headquarters, and in the yard were pitched 
several teepees, where black slaves in white jackets 
served the more convivial warriors of the tribe with a 


199 


SONS OF ELI 


cold brew from the keg, or filled long glasses with ice, 
soda, and fire-water. For the most part, however, 
these were good Indians, whose behavior caused no 
alarm among the palefaces. 

Of the throng which filled the campus, no one was 
more amused by this particular exhibit than the Soph- 
omore Antonio Colorado, the Sioux. His college 
friends had ceased to regard him as a novelty. He be- 
longed with them and had been welcomed into the best 
crowd. As an end rusher of the varsity eleven, worthy 
to be coupled with Captain Fred Varney, Antonio had 
proved his strength and courage. 

It was on the day of the baseball game with Har- 
vard, high-tide of the class reunions, that the brass 
bands led the cohorts into line for the procession to 
the Yale Field. Returning classes, slightly older than 
the prancing Indians, were gayly costumed as navy 
jackies or circus clowns or knights in pasteboard 
armor. It was a large, delirious pageant, all color and 
movement and high spirits, flowing and swirling into 
Chapel Street, and past the campus, with a most pro- 
digious racket. A foreign observer might have been 
puzzled to comprehend what it had to do with a uni- 
versity education. 

Bob Sedgwick had invited his charming cousin to 
come on for this commencement baseball game, and 
Miss Kitty Lombard accepted with alacrity. The fact 
that she had previously met Mr. Antonio Colorado, 
and considered him an uncommonly fascinating man, 
of course had nothing to do with the case. It was 


200 


THE VENGEANCE OF ANTONIO 


worth noting, however, that Miss Kitty was no more 
than in the hotel when the card of Antonio was promptly 
followed by that grave, graceful young man himself. 
He tarried for dinner, and was asked to join the party 
for the game next day. 

They walked across the street to see the procession 
before driving out to the field. Standing at the curb, 
they watched the two hundred counterfeit Indians dis- 
port themselves while waiting their turn to march. 
Miss Lombard laughed, appeared a trifle anxious, and 
looked up at her companion, who happened to be 
Antonio, the Sioux. He read her mind and said, with 
a smile: 

“It doesn’t jar my emotions in the least to see the 
noble red man caricatured. I enjoy the fun as much 
as you do. I was snatched away from my people as 
an infant, you know, and I’ve never been West since 
then.” 

“And you wouldn’t be able to talk to another Sioux 
in his own tongue? How queer that seems, Mr. Col- 
orado !” 

“Not a blessed word, Miss Lombard. School and 
college, and knocking about Europe with my bene- 
factor, the man who took me into his own family, and 
has done everything in the world for me — that has 
been the programme.” 

“So you haven’t heard the call of the wild?” said 
the interested girl. 

“Nothing wilder than a camp in the Maine woods 
and a jaunt through Mexico.” 


201 


SONS OF ELI 


With yelps and piercing war-whoops the Triennial 
Indians ceased their snake-dance and formed in column 
to hit the trail to the baseball-field. The tallest man 
carried a banner emblazoned with the class numerals. 
Flanking him were the members of the reunion com- 
mittee, the big chiefs and medicine-men. One of these 
may have tarried too long in a teepee and crooked a 
finger too often at a black slave in a white jacket, or 
perhaps it was merely an excess of carnival enthusiasm 
which inspired his conduct. He was a fellow of tre- 
mendous bulk, champion hammer-thrower while in 
college, and his friends were hailing him as “ Tiny 
Tim” Jennings. Passing the Chapel Street comer, 
he caught sight of Antonio Colorado at the curb, and 
roared in jubilant accents: 

“Yi-yi-yi! The real thing! The last of the Mo- 
hicans, as I live! Does he belong to us? Must we 
have him?” 

With this the impetuous Jennings made a lumbering 
dash to the curb and laid violent hands upon his prize. 
Antonio expostulated, pleasantly for a moment, and 
Bob Sedgwick stepped forward to interfere. There was 
such a thing as carrying horse-play too far. Tiny Tim 
was in an unreasoning humor, however, and had de- 
termined to kidnap this genuine child of the prairie 
and parade him in front of the banner. Deaf to all 
objection, he loudly declaimed: 

“You are surely elected, Chingacook, my boy. Be 
a heap good sport. You’ve got to come, so nix on the 
trouble stuff.” 


202 


THE VENGEANCE OF ANTONIO 


The procession had halted, and the feathered braves 
began to edge over to the scene of disturbance. They 
were charmed with the idea, and agreed that Jennings 
had a brilliant mind. All they needed was an eighteen- 
carat Indian in the van. One of the crowd had dropped 
out because his shoes hurt him, and he hurriedly 
stripped off his costume, shouting: 

“Here you are, Tim. Shoot him into my regalia. 
Say, will he look the part? Oh, don’t stop to argue. 
Fetch him along.” 

The temper of Antonio flared with no more provo- 
cation. Mindful of Kitty Lombard, he asked Sedg- 
wick to escort her to the field without waiting for him. 
He hoped to join them a little later. Kitty moved 
away reluctantly, turning to glance back at the jostling 
mob which surrounded Antonio. They were uproari- 
ously good-natured, and many of them were ready to 
desist, now that it was seen that the gentlemanly Sioux 
took the matter seriously. Jennings and several of 
his cronies were stubborn, however, and with one ac- 
cord these suddenly closed in and grabbed Antonio, 
trying to hustle him into the street. 

Twisting free, he let drive with both fists. The 
episode failed to amuse him. His knuckles smote the 
nose of Tiny Tim and closed one eye of another war- 
rior. This naturally annoyed them, and they led an- 
other charge at close quarters, fairly smothering the 
hapless Antonio by sheer weight of numbers. He was 
shoved and hauled and pushed into the street, and 
compelled to take the position assigned him by the 
203 


SONS OF ELI 


jocular Mr. Jennings. The band struck up a crashing 
one-step, the column yip-yipped with all its lung power, 
and the aborigines swept onward. 

Closely guarded was the precious prisoner, a stal- 
wart man clutching each arm, another just ahead, and 
a fourth at his heels. He realized that it would be silly 
to resist any further and compel them to drag him. 
He made the best of it, therefore, silent, unsmiling, 
inscrutable. In his heart was anger that smouldered 
and glowed. His clothes were torn, rumpled, and 
dusty as a result of the rumpus. A red scratch crossed 
his cheek. He could not rejoin Bob Sedgwick’s party 
in this sorry plight. His pride stood in the way. 
The afternoon was spoiled for him. He was chew- 
ing on such thoughts as these when Jennings slapped 
him on the back and cried: 

“Buck up, old chap, and act like one of the party. 
This is our mad, merry day, and everything goes. 
Off with the grouch ! Forgive us for putting up this 
little game on you.” 

Beneath the mask of dignified composure, the emo- 
tions of Antonio were primitive. He had reverted to 
type, but this was not for these ill-mannered roisterers 
to know. With a shrug he replied: 

“I may as well stay with your crowd for a while. 
I seem to be outvoted.” 

“Of course you were, but you put up a mighty nice 
little scrap. Stick with us and be our guest at the 
class dinner to-night. We are positively the brightest, 
most entertaining bunch that ever graduated from Mr. 
Elihu Yale’s college.” 


204 


THE VENGEANCE OF ANTONIO 


“I have a previous engagement, if you will be kind 
enough to excuse me before then/’ said the Sioux, and 
he spoke with a certain grimness of inflection which 
Jennings failed to note. 

A man behind him clapped a feathered bonnet on 
the head of Antonio, and another threw a bright 
blanket across his shoulders. The effect was almost a 
transformation. Instead of the cultivated Sophomore 
one seemed to behold the splendid savage whose fit- 
ting environment was very different from this. He had 
always walked with the gait of an Indian, it was the 
one outward trait inherited from his fathers, and now 
he appeared as though on a hostile trail. 

Into the Yale Field romped the Triennial phalanx 
to join the various other contingents of costumed 
lunatics in a grand circuit of the baseball diamond, 
past the crowded grand-stands, a dozen brass bands 
going it like mad on a dozen tunes at once. Kitty 
Lombard leaned forward to wave a blue flag, but An- 
tonio Colorado made no sign of recognition as he 
strode by. The girl was hurt, and showed it as she 
said to Bob Sedgwick: 

“But isn’t he going to sit with us? He certainly 
didn’t behave as if he preferred the company of those 
crazy Indians.” 

“They mussed him up and injured his sensitive feel- 
ings,” answered her cousin. “And, besides, he was 
captured and rough-housed right before your eyes, 
Kitty. A shameful performance, says Antonio to 
himself, and he will be unworthy to meet the fair 
young squaw again until the scalps of his enemies 
205 


SONS OF ELI 


dangle from his belt. And, believe me, he will get 
square with that big bully, Tiny Tim Jennings, before 
the next moon. Antonio is seldom riled, but when 
they get him well started, he is undoubtedly a bear.” 

“He looks angry now, Bob, and in those trappings 
he is every inch a Sioux, isn’t he? He won’t shoot or 
stab that horrid Jennings person, wiH he? Mr. 
Colorado is so awfully weH bred and civilized, and yet 
you never can teH.” 

“Piffle!” was the rude comment. “Antonio isn’t 
the sort to jump the reservation. He is white clean 
through. Leave it to him and don’t worry. That 
noisy Jennings is due to have a crimp put in him. He 
is a public nuisance.” 

Miss Kitty wore a serious, rather absent, expression, 
and her gaze wandered from the diamond to the tier 
of seats across the field where the cheering “Indians” 
made a great splotch of bright color. The girl ob- 
served that Antonio Colorado sat stiU as a statue, 
oblivious of the excitement around him. The Yale and 
Harvard nines scampered across the smooth turf in 
preliminary practice, and soon the game began, every 
moment tense. From the first inning it was cleanly 
played and sharply fought. The score seesawed until 
the very end, and then the Yale short-stop banged out 
a home run and decided the issue in favor of the blue. 

Into the field swept a human landslide, frenzied un- 
dergraduates, and young alumni, who surged at the 
victors to hoist them aloft and carry them in triumph 
around the enclosure. Foremost among these ardent 

206 


THE VENGEANCE OF ANTONIO 


partisans was Tiny Tim Jennings, followed by many of 
his comrades. Antonio Colorado was forgotten, and 
he lost no time in escaping. Drifting with the crowd 
toward the gate, he gained the street, and so made his 
way into New Haven on foot. 

While passing a vacant lot he halted to study a huge 
poster. In striking colors it depicted scenes and epi- 
sodes of the vanished American frontier, reckless cow- 
boys cavorting on bucking broncos, or whirling their 
ropes at long-horned Texas steers; the pony-express 
rider galloping over the plains amid showers of hostile 
arrows; the Overland stage, with its shotgun guard; 
the caravan of canvas-topped prairie-schooners at- 
tacked by the demon redskins. Antonio stood regard- 
ing this thrilling bill-board with critical interest. It 
seemed to fascinate him. Presently his sedate features 
lighted in a slow smile. As he turned away he actually 
chuckled aloud. This was proof that the Sioux pos- 
sesses a certain sense of humor. 

At supper Antonio was absent from his eating club, 
nor in the evening did he present himself at the hotel 
to enjoy the vivacious society of Miss Kitty Lombard. 
He ate alone in a restaurant, smoked one meditative 
cigar, and sought a garage. There he hired for the 
night a powerful seven-passenger car, with a lean 
young driver whom nothing could dismay. The soli- 
tary Antonio lounged in the tonneau while the machine 
departed swiftly from New Haven and fled over the 
highway to the westward. Less than an hour, and it 
rolled into Bridgeport. The driver halted to get in- 
207 


SONS OF ELI 

formation from a policeman, and turned toward one 
of the suburbs. 

The big tents of The Triangle Wild West Show were 
brightly illuminated. The performance had begun 
when Antonio bought a reserved seat and sauntered 
in to watch the entertainment. His interest quickened 
when the Indians came on to ambush the mail-coach. 
These were no Triennial-Reunion counterfeits, but 
picked riders and hunters from the virile tribes which 
still resist the white man’s endeavors to improve them 
off the face of the earth. Antonio could identify the 
Sioux, and he counted them carefully. An even dozen, 
including an elderly chief, scowling, pock-marked, 
brawny, who looked as if he might hark back to the 
days of Sitting Bull and the last fight at Wounded 
Knee. 

A most infernal racket, fusillades of blank cartridges, 
and the Overland stage was in a predicament indeed, 
but a dusty troop of Uncle Sam’s cavalry arrived in 
the nick of time, and drove the baffled redskins back 
to the mountains. As soon as they retreated, and the 
dead and wounded had revived and trotted off, An- 
tonio Colorado left his seat and walked behind the 
painted scenery which screened the smaller living 
tents. Inquiry directed him to an interpreter, a griz- 
zled, bow-legged terrier of a man who had been a scout 
with Buffalo Bill and General Miles. His greeting 
was cordial, and he gave his name as “Curly Tom” 
Bridges, informing Antonio: 

“I know all about you, young man. Once on a 
208 


THE VENGEANCE OF ANTONIO 


time I was stationed at the Pine Ridge Agency, and 
the story was told me by the army people. You’re the 
papoose that was pulled out of the bloody ruction on 
the creek, and taken to camp across a cavalry saddle.” 

“ Correct so far, as it was explained to me later,” 
smiled Antonio, “but how have you managed to keep 
track of me since those days?” 

The interpreter jerked his thumb in the direction 
of the nearest tent, in the door of which lounged a 
Sioux bedaubed with war-paint. 

“Your own blood — they never lost you for a minute,” 
was the reply. “There was always somebody from the 
agency, or an army officer, or a rancher bound East 
on a trip, and as sure as guns there were Indians beg- 
ging ’em to bring back word of the famous papoose. 
Proud as Tophet, too — they figgered it was an honor 
to the tribe — you’d hooked up to a millionaire or some- 
thing, and was getting plumb full up of gilt-edged 
refinements and education and all such nonsense.” 

“And they never thought of me as a renegade who 
had turned his back on his own folks?” queried An- 
tonio. 

“Nary a mite of it. Say, they’ll be tickled to death 
to see you. The old chief, Hole in the Clouds, brags 
that he’s some kind of kin of yours. It frames up 
that your father and him were cousins, as near as I 
can make it. So you’re in New Haven? We play 
the town day after to-morrow.” 

“The college will be closed by then, Mr. Bridges. 
Too bad, isn’t it? That is one reason why I came to 

209 


SONS OF ELI 

Bridgeport to-night. I didn’t want to miss the 
show.” 

“Well, we can pull off a little reception right now,” 
exclaimed Curly Tom, “and you’re welcome to pow- 
wow with the outfit till daylight, if you like. Come 
along with me.” 

He led the way into the Sioux tent and told the 
group who the visitor was. The dozen Indians dis- 
played unwonted excitement, crowding around An- 
tonio to shake his hand, to pat his shoulders, to scru- 
tinize him by the light of the gasolene-torches, while 
they talked among themselves, or addressed him ear- 
nestly in their own tongue. He had to turn to the in- 
terpreter for help, saying: 

“Please tell them I am ashamed of myself that I 
never took the trouble to learn some words of the Sioux 
language.” 

Old Hole in the Clouds moved closer. Age had 
bent his broad shoulders, and his dark, harsh face was 
incredibly seamed and cross-hatched with wrinkles. 
His sight was failing, and he peered long at the young 
man before he grunted in English: 

“Heap good boy ! Come see your friends?” 

Antonio nodded, and his smile was a trifle uncertain 
with feeling. His life, his tastes, his ambitions had 
nothing whatever in common with these untutored 
Sioux from the Dakotas, and yet the mystic ties of 
birth were not to be disregarded. He was granted no 
time for self-analysis, however, for the younger men 
plied him with questions. They were moved by curi- 


210 


THE VENGEANCE OF ANTONIO 


osity, friendly but insatiable. This visitor of their own 
tribe had dropped from another world. He was fab- 
ulous, in a way, and had to be explained. By means 
of Curly Tom Bridges, he was able to enlighten them 
concerning his career and prospects, and their demeanor 
was that of sober congratulation, never a trace of envy 
or resentment. 

“I should like permission to take them all to New 
Haven with me to-night,” said Antonio, recalling his 
errand. “It is a short run by motor, and I promise 
to return them at a fairly decent hour. They might 
enjoy a glimpse of the college buildings, and supper 
with me.” 

“It sounds good enough to me,” answered Bridges. 
“ We’ll have a chat with the boss. Hell size you up as 
a responsible, all-right party, and he knows who you 
are.” 

“You are invited, of course,” returned Antonio. 
“Now, if the boss consents, can we handle the crowd 
with no chance of trouble? They will take orders 
from you?” 

“Not a drunkard in the outfit,” was the prompt 
response. “We picked ’em special. As for obeying 
orders, you’re their little tin god on wheels already. 
Between the two of us, they’ll be as easy as lambs. 
And I’ll bet the cigars that for manners and morals 
they will stack up against some of the bunches of col- 
lege boys that have strayed into the big tent.” 

“You win,” said Antonio. “Here is the proposi- 
tion for you to put up to Hole in the Clouds and the 


211 


SONS OF ELI 


others. This little trip is not to be all amusement. 
This afternoon I was insulted and humiliated and 
jumped on by a crowd of men who should have known 
better. I am enough of an Indian to want to square 
the account.” 

The interpreter looked dubious and hesitated before 
he replied: “These Sioux of ours would naturally love 
nothing better than to rollick into a rumpus by way 
of doing you a favor, but the boss wouldn’t stand for 
it. And I suppose they have policemen and lockups 
in New Haven. You get me, don’t you?” 

“Certainly, Mr. Bridges. I give you my word that 
the trick can be turned without the slightest disorder.” 

“Then we won’t mention this little matter to the 
boss. Now let me pass it along to these fellow citizens 
of yours.” 

He raised his hand and the low murmur of voices 
became silent. In florid phrases befitting this impor- 
tant occasion, he informed the group of the desire of 
the distinguished Antonio Colorado to waft them to 
New Haven in automobiles, as his particular friends 
and honored guests. Certain white men had been 
guilty of cowardly behavior toward their host. These 
men were curs, who deserved a beating. It was neces- 
sary to punish them in another way, however, which 
would be explained at the proper time. There was to 
be no fighting, and Hole in the Cloud would give the 
assurance of a chief whose word was never broken 
that his young men should do as they were told. 

This announcement caused a sensation. Antonio 


212 


THE VENGEANCE OF ANTONIO 


noted one or two Sioux edging toward the rifles which 
were stacked around the centre pole of the tent, but 
Hole in the Clouds rebuked them, and they halted in 
their tracks. It was apparent that Antonio’s griev- 
ance was taken very weightily, and he felt some slight 
misgivings. Loyalty might be too zealous. As a pre- 
cautionary measure, Curly Tom Bridges searched the 
party for weapons, and confiscated the very last pocket- 
knife. 

A pleasant interview with the owner of the Triangle 
Wild West Show, and permission was obtained. The 
personality of Antonio was uncommonly impressive. 
He made one more stipulation, that the Sioux should 
not change their clothes, as some of them were inclined 
to do, but should remain in the gorgeous panoply of 
feathers, beads, buckskin, and paint, which had made 
them a spectacle so ferocious in the mimic frays of the 
big tent. With native courtesy they humored his 
whim and offered no objection. 

Explaining that he wished the party to ride com- 
fortably, he telephoned a Bridgeport garage for two 
more large automobiles. At eleven o’clock the show 
had finished its evening performance, and a few min- 
utes thereafter the personally conducted expedition of 
Antonio Colorado was rolling toward New Haven. 
He sat with Tom Bridges, and outlined his scheme of 
vengeance. It vastly amused the interpreter, and he 
offered to co-operate “plumb up to the handle.” 

“They sure dealt it to you raw,” said he. “And 
you riding herd on this lovely young girl, Miss Lom- 
213 


SONS OF ELI 


bard! From Nebraska, is she — related to the Sedg- 
wicks ? Pshaw ! I know that outfit — mines and cat- 
tle. I’ve got a boy of my own that was foreman for a 
Lombard ranch.” 

Antonio made no comment. It was a delicate theme, 
and he cared to discuss it no further. Probably his 
companion was puzzled that the daughter of Wil- 
loughby Lombard should be an acquaintance of this 
educated Sioux. It failed to square with the social 
code of the frontier. With nice tact, Curly Tom 
talked of other things, perceiving that Antonio’s mood 
had become sombre. 

Meanwhile that glorious class of Yale which was 
celebrating its Triennial Reunion had marched in from 
the field, making a detour past the house of the presi- 
dent of the university in order to cheer for him and 
listen to his words of welcome delivered from the 
piazza. Thence they returned to headquarters, and a 
respite in the teepees from their strenuous programme. 
At seven o’clock they mobilized again for the class 
dinner, the chief event, which was held in a hall a 
short distance from the campus. It was an informal 
affair, so far as dress was concerned, and many of 
them bothered not to discard the costume of the 
parade. 

The brass band had been reinforced by a fife-and- 
drum corps, in order that the music should not cease 
for lack of breath. The caterer had been instructed 
to guard against a drought. The menu was elaborate, 
and the list of speakers carefully chosen. The finest 

214 


THE VENGEANCE OF ANTONIO 


class that ever left the campus was prepared to make 
a night of it. The toastmaster was Tiny Tim Jen- 
nings, who had a rough-and-ready wit and a self- 
assurance that nothing could upset. It was late in 
the evening before he introduced the first orator. The 
dinner was prolonged by frequent interruptions. Be- 
tween courses, the entire company insisted on prom- 
enading around the hall behind the fife-and-drum corps. 
There was also a great deal of chorus-singing, and one 
“Spike” Strothers had to be indulged in his well- 
known stunt of leading the band with a flag for a 
baton. 

When the burly toastmaster took charge of the pro- 
ceedings, it was seen that he was in splendid form. 
His remarks had the snap and ginger to carry things 
along with unflagging spirit. He set the pace for the 
other speakers, and they did so well that there was a 
loud demand for more eloquence after the prearranged 
list was exhausted. Jennings, therefore, called upon 
this man and that, and the interest had not begun to 
slacken when the hour drew toward midnight. Jen- 
nings was compelled to relate the story of the twin 
sons of his brother, who had been graduated several 
years earlier. It was always good for a tremendous 
laugh. He rose to his feet and began to speak as 
follows: 

“It doesn’t take them long to show the true Yale 
spirit in my family. These remarkable twins were 
only a few hours old, do you see, and the nurse had 
put them together in the same cradle. She didn’t 
215 


SONS OF ELI 


want to get them mixed, and, in order to tell one from 
the other, she tied ribbons on them. A blue ribbon on 
one twin, a red ribbon on the other one. The lad with 
the blue ribbon turned and squirmed until he caught 
sight of his infant brother, who was decorated with 
the hateful color of perfidious Harvard. And what 
did he do then, my dear classmates? Why, he let 
out a yell, doubled his fist, hauled off, and lammed the 
twin with the red ribbon for all he was worth. It 
was a case of separating the twins or changing colors. 
Nothing doing at all. My brother was deeply affected, 
and ” 

Here the toastmaster paused until the applause 
should become less vociferous. Suddenly the grin 
faded from his large countenance, his eyes were fixed 
on the doorway, and they seemed to be popping from 
his head. He stood frozen, immovable. The audience 
stared at him with idle curiosity for a moment, expect- 
ing some merry jest, but his amazement seemed so 
genuine that there was a scraping of chairs, and they 
turned to face the doorway. 

Without a sound, fourteen unbidden guests had en- 
tered the hall. Antonio Colorado and Curly Tom 
Bridges had purposely stayed in the rear, so that for 
the moment they were hidden behind Hole in the 
Clouds’ band of Sioux, in their forbidding garb and 
lavish war-paint. There was no mistaking these in- 
truders for Reunion masqueraders. Scowling to right 
and left of the terrific old chief were such truculent 
followers as Leaping Wolf, Running Water, John 
216 


THE VENGEANCE OF ANTONIO 


Hungry, and Man with the Sharp Knives. As a 
tableau they were more than sensational. Again the 
chairs scraped, this time very nervously, and several 
young men, with a hunted air, let their glances rove in 
the direction of the nearest windows. Tiny Tim Jen- 
nings, rattled for once, uttered a long sigh, which 
sounded like a porpoise coming up to breathe, and 
dropped into his chair with a thump. 

The shock of the unexpected had benumbed the 
wits of this festive dinner. It may have occurred to 
a few to connect this invasion with the Triangle Wild 
West Show and Bridgeport, but this did not help 
matters. To most of them, including the crumpled 
toastmaster, these red Indians were inexplicable, and 
their errand was unfriendly. Before the panic-smitten 
gathering could recover and attempt any concerted 
action, Antonio Colorado stepped forward, an easy, dig- 
nified director of ceremonies. Jennings had a glimmer 
of comprehension, but he could find nothing to say. 

During the next three minutes events moved with 
extraordinary rapidity and precision. Antonio pointed 
a finger at the toastmaster. Old Hole in the Clouds 
and young Leaping Wolf moved forward between the 
long tables at a swift lope. They seemed to arrive in- 
stantaneously. Out of his chair they snatched the 
mighty Jennings, and he moved toward the door, a 
sinewy hand gripping the back of his neck, his arms 
pinioned, a knee propelling him when he lagged. 
Thus might two expert truckmen shoot a cotton bale 
out of a warehouse. 


217 


SONS OF ELI 


No sooner had the luckless toastmaster been set in 
motion than Antonio’s gesture indicated another mem- 
ber of the class committee. Man with the Sharp 
Knives bounded over the table, alighted upon his 
designated victim, and hustled and dragged him in the 
wake of Mr. Jennings. Another signal from the fatal 
finger of Antonio, and a third ringleader was whisked 
into outer darkness. After that, the process was 
speeded up until seven of the glorious class of Umpty- 
six had been hurled at the waiting automobiles. They 
fairly flew out of the hall before any attempt at rescue 
could be organized. Antonio had selected those who 
had been most conspicuous in ruffling his clothes and 
his self-respect. The others sat and looked on in a 
dazed manner, as though wondering who was next on 
the list. Their emotions were more or less scrambled. 
It had been a frightful mistake to dress up as Indians 
for the Reunion. 

Curly Tom Bridges had stood aside, his thumbs in 
his belt, laughing himself red in the face. In a corner 
he spied a heap of fireworks, intended for use on the 
campus in the small hours of morning, and he sug- 
gested to Antonio: 

“Better fetch the stuff along, had I? It’ll please 
the Sioux a whole lot, and I figger we can add some 
pep to the grand finale.” 

The seven prisoners were tossed into the three auto- 
mobiles, head over heels, and their captors kept them 
quiet by the simple expedient of using them for cush- 
ions. Old Hole in the Clouds sat upon Tiny Tim Jen- 
218 


THE VENGEANCE OF ANTONIO 


nings in the bottom of the tonneau, and poked him in 
the stomach when he became troublesome. 

“The old boy showed me a string of scalps several 
years ago,” casually remarked the interpreter. “He 
had kept ’em hidden away all those years. Mebbe he 
has ’em yet. He was sure a bad Indian when he was 
young and frisky. Better watch him, Antonio. First 
thing you know, he’s liable to be feeling around for the 
hair of this ornery Jennings party.” 

“It may be difficult to manage these friends of 
mine,” solemnly replied Antonio. “They are pretty 
well worked up, of course, and they regard me as one 
of their tribe who has been mistreated.” 

A muffled groan was heard from the bottom of the 
tonneau, where Mr. Jennings was endeavoring to hold 
fast to his hair against a sudden onslaught. A police- 
man or two saw the automobiles flit past the street 
lights, but feeble yelps for help failed to attract their 
attention. They noticed the feathered war-bonnets, 
and took it for granted that the Triennial celebrants 
had embarked for a joy ride. 

The destination was the Yale Field, now lonely and 
deserted, the baseball diamond, enclosed by the circling 
grand-stand, lying far back from the road and the gate- 
ways. It was an isolated place, fit for deeds of dark- 
ness, and interference was most unlikely. Once inside 
the grounds, the headlights flashed on a pile of dis- 
carded lumber, of which Antonio made mental note. 
The cars halted and the forlorn captives were pulled 
out, by a leg, an arm, or a collar, as came handiest. 

219 


SONS OF ELI 


Curly Tom Bridges had borrowed an axe and several 
coils of rope from one of the tents. He deftly tied the 
prisoners together for safe-keeping, knotting them in a 
compact little bunch until the preparations were com- 
pleted. 

On a spot of bare ground a fire was built and lighted. 
Its shadowy illumination disclosed the dusky figures 
of the Sioux captors flitting to and fro. Their aspect 
was sinister, uncanny in the extreme, as though there 
was no make-believe whatever about this business. 
So keen was their zest in their midnight outing, that 
Antonio Colorado felt slightly uneasy. The aged Hole 
in the Clouds was renewing his youth. His bent figure 
straightened, and he glided with agile footstep, mut- 
tering to himself in a singsong, droning voice which 
sounded very much like a battle-hymn. Leaping Wolf 
was aptly named, for he ran in bounding circles and 
barked ferociously. 

During a brief lull, the unfortunate Jennings man- 
aged to make himself heard in a tremulous appeal to 
Antonio : 

“I say, old man, this is carrying a joke rather far. 
It was thoughtless of us to steal you for our parade, 
but we meant it in fun. If you had put some of your 
college pals up to playing horse with us to-night, it 
would be tit for tat. But these confounded Indians 
of yours don’t know when to stop.” 

“You grabbed me because I am an Indian,” replied 
the implacable Antonio, “so I’m afraid you will have 
to stand my way of getting even. If you fellows try 


220 


THE VENGEANCE OF ANTONIO 


to raise a shout for help I’ll gag you with strips of 
your own shirts. Civilization is only skin-deep with a 
Sioux. You have rubbed the veneer off me.” 

“The bunch is buffaloed, all right,” whispered 
Bridges. “Darned if this circus isn’t enough to make 
you feel creepy. Look at Hole in the Clouds. If the 
old rooster isn’t limbering up in the opening steps of a 
scalp-dance, I miss my guess. Mebbe I’d better tame 
him down a few. You or me had better keep hold of 
that axe.” 

Seven stakes had been cut from joists in the lumber- 
pile. These were driven into the turf, beyond the 
boundary of the baseball-field. One by one the mem- 
bers of the Triennial squad were led to the several 
stakes and tied fast with short lengths of rope. The 
enthusiastic Sioux braves snatched flaming bits of 
wood from the bonfire and darted toward the captives 
at the stakes. Apparently they were about to make 
this a thoroughly realistic rehearsal. 

Tiny Tim Jennings, two hundred and fifty pounds, 
champion hammer-thrower, peerless toastmaster, chair- 
man of the Reunion committee, lost control of his 
nerves and began to blubber. This infernal nightmare 
was too much for him. Antonio showed no sympathy, 
but concluded that the mimic torture had gone far 
enough. It glutted his desire for reprisal to see his 
chief tormentor making a babyish spectacle of himself. 
He spoke to the interpreter, who called out sharply, 
and the dozen Sioux gathered about him, obedient and 
mindful of their promise. He distributed the Roman 


221 


SONS OF ELI 


candles, sky-rockets, and firecrackers, at which they 
guffawed and slapped their thighs. They had per- 
mission to show what fancy shots they were, said Curly 
Tom, but if they hurt or burned so much as one of the 
prisoners at the stake, a heavy fine would be deducted 
from the monthly wages of the offender. 

It was a crackling, fiery inferno, indeed, with crack- 
ers exploding at the feet of the victims, red and blue 
balls from the candles hissing past their ears, rockets 
“ whooshing” so close that the sticks almost combed 
their hair. Before the ammunition was exhausted, 
Leaping Wolf scored a hit by furtively attaching a pack 
of firecrackers to the rear of John Hungry’s trousers 
by means of a buckskin thong, and touching them off 
with a match. The effect was spectacular, and John 
Hungry ran until he fell over a bench, detonating at 
every jump. 

This was the cue for an indiscriminate bombardment 
during which Curly Tom crawled beneath the nearest 
grand-stand after being shot in the neck with a Roman 
candle aimed by that deadly marksman, old Hole in 
the Clouds, whose eyes were streaming with tears of 
mirth. 

“ Gosh ! I wish I had a bugler here to sound ‘ cease 
firing,”’ ejaculated the interpreter from his refuge, in 
which Antonio had hastily joined him. “ They’re 
having the time of their lives. What’ll we do with 
the prisoners after the smoke clears? Turn ’em 
loose?” 

“I am not as merciful as that,” said Antonio. “It’s 


222 


THE VENGEANCE OF ANTONIO 

a warm June night. Leave them here to think it 
over. ,, 

“Sure enough. It’ll puzzle the rest of their crowd 
worse than ever. You are some Indian yourself, Mr. 
Colorado.” 

“The punishment fits the crime,” was Antonio’s 
comment, but he no longer frowned. The account 
was properly squared. Soon the last firecracker 
popped, and the last candle found its Indian target. 
Grinning, oblivious of their scorched skins, the twelve 
avengers of the honor of Antonio squatted before the 
seven bound captives and addressed them in terms of 
guttural derision. Antonio interfered with this amia- 
ble diversion, announcing to Tiny Tim Jennings: 

“Here is a farewell toast to you. Better luck next 
time ! And when you pick out an Indian, be sure he 
is not a real one. Somebody will happen along by 
six or seven o’clock in the morning to untie the ropes.” 

“You are not going to leave us hung up in this 
style?” cried Jennings, in beseeching accents. “It’s 
cruel. I told you I was ready to apologize. We are 
all awfully anxious to apologize.” 

“Thanks, Mr. Jennings. You were expecting to 
stay up till daylight, and you are much better off here. 
You fellows can’t possibly smoke or drink too much.” 

“I’ll slack the ropes a little bit,” put in Curly Tom, 
“not so as they can get away, but enough so they won’t 
be choked or chafed. I should say offhand that the 
fresh air and the quiet surroundin’s would do these 
inebriates a whole heap of good.” 

223 


SONS OF ELI 


Amid a chorus of distressful laments from the seven 
Triennial Indians firmly lashed to their seven stout 
stakes, Antonio led his trusty band to the automobiles. 
They halted near the campus as the next stop en 
route, and Antonio escorted the party on foot through 
the stately quadrangle. Several of the Sioux expressed 
a wish to see his own wigwam, where he lived and slept 
while learning the white man’s education. Antonio 
guided them to his handsomely furnished rooms in a 
spacious dormitory. While they inspected and ad- 
mired, he stole out to the nearest telephone and noti- 
fied the restaurant at which he had engaged a private 
room earlier in the night. 

He was not ashamed of them, his own people, when 
they filed into the restaurant, silent, decorous, and 
took the places assigned them at the table. Unversed 
though they were in the little niceties of etiquette, they 
were essentially well-bred in the larger sense, betray- 
ing neither awkwardness nor curiosity. It was fitting 
that the venerable Hole in the Clouds should take the 
place at the head of the table. He doffed his war- 
bonnet, wiped the paint from his cheeks, and his wrin- 
kled features assumed an expression of kindly, benign 
wisdom. He ate sparingly, his thoughts seemingly 
elsewhere, and often his gaze turned and rested upon 
the tall, lithe figure of Antonio Colorado, at the other 
end of the table. 

At length the Sioux chieftain, whose lawless, distant 
youth had known the foray and the ghost-dance, was 
moved to speak the things which filled his mind. He 

224 


THE VENGEANCE OF ANTONIO 


stood with folded arms, the interpreter at his elbow, 
and slowly, earnestly said: 

“What we did to-night was like the play of little 
children, a foolish game which made much laughter. 
One of our young men asked us to do this thing, and 
we were glad to oblige him. One of our young men? 
Yes, although he has never seen the wide land where 
he was born. Yes, although he has even lost the name 
his father gave him. I remember when he was born. 
It was in the spring, and the grass was green for the 
ponies and the cattle. His mother looked out of the 
lodge and said his name was to be Bright Morning, 
and his father agreed, for his heart was warm for her, 
although he liked a stronger name for this fine son of 
his. 

“Thin as smoke are the memories of an old man, 
and there is no good in stirring troubled waters that 
have been calm for a long, long time. There was 
fighting with the soldiers in blue coats. This young 
man of ours was taken from among the Sioux people. 
Now behold where that trail has led him. At last our 
trails have crossed, and we are happy. If we do not 
see his face again, it will please us to talk about him, 
to remember that we were his friends for a little 
while.” 

A murmur of approval ran round the table, and 
Antonio Colorado, the Bright Morning of his tribe, 
stood on his feet to say something in response. Fas- 
tidiously dressed, again the Yale Sophomore, he sug- 
gested the presence of a barrier impassable between 

225 


SONS OF ELI 


these simple red men and himself, and yet he was con- 
scious that the trails were not wholly divergent, that 
he was not an alien in this company. 

“Some day,” said he, “I will visit you, even as you 
have been kind enough to visit me. And we shall 
meet again as friends and blood-relations. And it 
may be that I can do you a service in payment of your 
goodness to me.” 

It was at breakfast next morning that Antonio en- 
countered his sagacious chum, Jerry Altemus, that 
languid young man of the world, who asked, with an 
air of real concern: 

“What’s this I hear about some trouble you had at 
the game yesterday with those Triennial ruffians? 
Bob Sedgwick was quite fussed up about it, and had a 
great yarn to tell, how they used violence, and so on.” 

“Oh, they apologized later,” blandly answered An- 
tonio. “They took a fancy to me because I am an 
Indian.” 

“Where the deuce were you last night?” demanded 
Jerry. “Bob and I scouted all over the place for you. 
I rather fancy that Miss Lombard was expecting you 
to drop in at the hotel after dinner.” 

“I had a little business matter at stake,” said An- 
tonio, without a change of countenance. “There was 
something owing me, and I had to go and collect it. 
With this off my hands, I shall now have leisure to 
pay my humble respects to Miss Lombard.” 


226 


A TRANSACTION WITH SHYLOCK 


If put to a vote, Ashton Merrill would have won 
the verdict as the best dressed Sophomore on the Yale 
campus. His clothes were to be taken as seriously 
reflecting the latest modes, and his Chapel Street tailor 
regarded him as an achievement. There was no dis- 
play of extravagance in taste, merely a scrupulous at- 
tention to those details which, in the opinion of young 
Mr. Merrill, made the well-groomed gentleman. He 
was not at all a showy fellow, and had been seldom 
heard of as a Freshman, making few friends, and rather 
holding aloof from the common herd. His manners 
were pleasant enough, but somewhat reserved, con- 
veying the slightest shade of condescension, as though 
it were a privilege to know him. One might have sur- 
mised that he had come from some exclusive prepara- 
tory school dominated by social caste, and could not 
readily adjust himself to the spirit of college democracy. 

Little by little the others began to accept Merrill 
at his own valuation, nor discovered that his campaign 
was adroitly, thoroughly planned. He had no ambi- 
tion to shine in athletics or scholarship, but aspired 
to another sort of recognition, and that he went 
about it cleverly is proven by the fact that the cam- 
pus failed to suspect him. To be considered an aris- 
tocrat, to gain admittance to the small circle of men 
227 


SONS OF ELI 


in his class who bore names associated with rank and 
wealth— this was the goal of his endeavors. Young 
Merrill was a climber, and he knew precisely what he 
wanted. 

For a year he had observed, imitated, studied man- 
ners, clothes, and deportment more diligently than 
his text-books — marked the men worth knowing. As 
a Sophomore, he elected to live alone, and chose a 
room in the dormitory in which the best crowd was to 
be found. It was the cheapest room in the building, 
up under the roof, but preferable to more spacious 
quarters elsewhere. He was not yet a spendthrift — 
his allowance did not permit it — and he proposed to 
make every dollar count. 

He felt that he had gained a footing near the top 
round of the ladder when Jerry Altemus began to drop 
into his room of an evening, Jerry the bored and fas- 
tidious man of the world, who affected an indifference 
to the Yale doctrine that one fellow was as good as 
another. Among his intimates were Howard Van- 
derpool, son of the traction magnate; Bill Dickson, 
of Detroit, heir to several millions; and Bob Sedgwick, 
the varsity guard, who was easily the most prominent 
man in his class. Sedgwick’s stamp of approval was 
worth not quite so much as the favor of these others, 
for he was a happy-go-lucky person from the real 
West, who cared not a rap for money, although he 
had plenty of it, and was hailed as a pal by some of 
the merest nobodies. 

“Why not join us for a night in New York?” amia- 
228 


A TRANSACTION WITH SHYLOCK 


bly suggested Altemus during one of these chats. 
“I run down almost every week for dinner and the 
theatre. One ought to break away from the campus 
occasionally and cultivate the cosmopolitan point of 
view. We expect to catch the five-o’clock express to- 
morrow afternoon. Vanderpool wants us to dine at 
his house. He mentioned my asking you.” 

Merrill accepted, with just the right shade of cour- 
teous pleasure, although his heart fluttered, and it 
required an effort to check an effusive response. This 
was more than he dared to hope for at this stage of 
his career. It turned out to be a memorable experi- 
ence. There were four of them, including Bob Sedg- 
wick, who was fairly dragged along, protesting that 
this New York habit was poor stuff, and Jerry Altemus 
ought to break himself of it. A Vanderpool limousine, 
with two men in livery, met them at the station, and 
went humming up Fifth Avenue to a mansion which 
had been photographed for all the Sunday supplements. 

Young Vanderpool seemed not in the least impressed 
by its magnificence, nor did the swarm of servants 
embarrass him. He took them for granted, like the 
furniture. The graceless Sedgwick shook hands with 
the butler, and swore that he mistook him for Mr. 
Vanderpool, senior. The languid attitude of Jerry 
Altemus indicated that it was not such a bad shack, 
but he could have done the thing better himself. As 
for Ashton Merrill, he moved in a new world, dazzling 
and enviable, but he did not betray himself as a novice. 
Keen of eye, inwardly alert, he played the game, and 

229 


SONS OF ELI 


appeared at ease, to the manner born. Mrs. Vander- 
pool thought him charming, and invited him down for 
a dance later in the month. 

“I am so glad that my son has found friends of his 
own kind at New Haven,” said she at dinner. “Are 
you related to the Sherman Merrills of Philadelphia, 
may I ask ? I fancied I noticed a family resemblance.” 

“Not that I am aware of,” Ashton replied, with his 
engaging smile. “My people are old New England 
stock. We have lived in the same town for something 
more than two hundred years, from father to son.” 

“How very interesting!” pursued the mother of 
Howard Vanderpool, displaying marked respect for 
ancient ancestry. “And so you belong to what one 
might call a county family. Are you fond of outdoor 
life — sports, and so on?” 

“I know a little about farming and horses,” the self- 
possessed Sophomore assured her. “My father is 
awfully keen on horses. It is in the blood.” 

“ Gentlemen farmers? I quite approve, Mr. Merrill. 
There is nothing more wholesome. My husband has a 
farm to play with. You must talk horses with him. 
He is old-fashioned enough to prefer them to motors.” 

Mr. Vanderpool was a large, taciturn man, who took 
no great pains to make himself agreeable to his son’s 
college friends; but, overhearing this conversation, 
he brightened a trifle, and asked Merrill into the library 
to smoke a cigar. The host exhibited photographs of 
several of his prize colts, and the young man’s critical 
comments were so sound that he was asked to spend 

230 


A TRANSACTION WITH SHYLOCK 


a week-end at the Long Island farm. Bob Sedgwick 
interrupted to suggest that they had better beat it 
for Broadway if they wished to see anything more than 
the last act. 

Merrill insisted on paying his share of the evening’s 
fun, to which the others agreed, as a matter of course, 
money being the least of their concerns. Those who 
travelled with them were presumed to be able to keep 
the same pace. 

There was a supper at a popular cabaret, after the 
show, and taxis and lavish tips along their blithesome 
route, in all of which Ashton Merrill shared with the 
calm air of a man who had it to burn. He returned to 
New Haven next day as one who had scaled the bar- 
rier, but his happiness was tinged with a secret anxiety. 
He would find excuses to avoid too many little trips 
to New York. They were more expensive than he 
could afford. 

These new friends of his soon offered him the chance 
to join their eating-club. The weekly cost of board 
was much higher than Merrill had dreamed of paying, 
but he could not decline without convicting himself as 
a counterfeit. He determined to economize in other 
ways, taking care not to be caught at it; but now that 
he was one of the set of careless spenders, his whole 
scale of outlay was increased without serious extrava- 
gance or dissipation. 

A few weeks after Jerry Altemus had condescended 
to admit him to the dazzling coterie, the affairs of 
young Mr. Merrill began to hang over him like a cloud. 

231 


SONS OF ELI 


There were bills for more clothes, for hand-made shoes, 
for imported haberdashery, not to mention a cafe or 
two, a tobacconist, and a garage. These merchants 
were not likely to annoy him so long as he was rated 
as one of the rich men of his class. Such credit ac- 
counts were welcomed. He was short of ready cash, 
however, and had overdrawn the stated allowance 
from home. Altemus or Sedgwick, in a similar plight, 
would have borrowed from their friends, without a 
second thought, but this Merrill could not bring him- 
self to do, because he was a pretender, and afraid of 
detection. 

At his wit’s end, too misguided to acknowledge that 
he could not play the game, he decided to seek a private 
interview with a useful person known to the campus 
as “Easy Money” Hopson, who accepted promissory 
notes in return for loans, and thereby enabled the 
careless undergraduate to weather periods of financial 
stress. The nickname of Mr. Samuel Hopson had an 
ironical flavor, for such of his clients as tried to evade 
payment found him anything but easy. 

He demanded no security, and the poor but de- 
serving student found little favor in his sight. Those 
who patronized him had fathers who could be depended 
on to settle in the event of default, and he seldom made 
a mistake in his rating. Five per cent a month was 
the reward of this philanthropist. He had driven a 
hack for years, thereby acquiring an immensely valu- 
able experience of human nature and the ways of 
Yale, and, retiring from the quarter-deck of his bat- 

232 


A TRANSACTION WITH SHYLOCK 

tered vehicle, now loafed in a small office which bore 
no sign on the door. Shrewd, ruddy, and affable was 
Samuel Hopson, hailed by name by most of the men 
graduated during a generation, and regarded as more 
or less of an institution. 

Ashton Merrill, hiding an uneasy soul behind a 
manner extremely self-possessed, sauntered in without 
knocking, and found the money-lender playing soli- 
taire at his desk. It might have been inferred that 
the young man had come to grant a favor, not to ask 
one, as he indifferently observed: 

“How are you, Sam? I happen to be caught short. 
A couple of hundred will do. We all have to come to 
it.” 

There were no awkward questions, no cross-examina- 
tion. Hopson knew who Merrill’s friends were, and 
was ready to appraise him. He was one of the gilded 
set of Sophomores, who spent their money freely, and 
were apt to go broke now and then. The fastidious 
Sophomore was dressed with the usual nicety, and his 
aspect in every way suggested the sort of affluence that 
has no need to flaunt itself. Mr. Hopson smiled cor- 
dially, and said, in his rough-and-ready fashion: 

“The lads find it handy to drop in on me now and 
then. The best of them are liable to face a deficit in 
the budget. Two hundred, Mr. Merrill? Will I make 
it thirty days?” 

The young man looked disturbed, hastily reflecting 
that he could not hope to meet the obligation with 
only a month’s leeway, and casually suggested: 

233 


SONS OF ELI 


“If it isn’t convenient to settle as soon as that, 
I presume you won’t mind renewing the docu- 
ment?” 

“ Suit yourself. Any time between now and gradua- 
tion,” replied Easy Money Hopson, the friend of the 
distressed. 

“I shall have to chop it out of my allowance, you 
know,” Ashton explained, forcing a smile. “It’s the 
kind of stunt a fellow isn’t anxious to have his father 
get wise to.” 

Mr. Hopson understood the situation perfectly, hav- 
ing dealt with many like it, and chuckled sympatheti- 
cally as he filled out the note and passed it across the 
desk for the signature. The borrower hesitated, fum- 
bled with the pen, and then wrote in a bold scrawling 
hand. The benevolent Hopson read the young fel- 
low’s thoughts. They were a bit nervous when they 
came to him for the first time, afraid of paternal dis- 
covery, but this soon wore off. 

“Come again, Mr. Merrill,” said he, laying the note 
in a leather wallet. “I mention no names, but there’s 
friends of yours that are included in my collection of 
Yale autographs.” 

Ashton made no reply to this, as he descended the 
stairs sternly resolving to turn over a new leaf. He 
would give it out that he was studying for honors, 
or writing for the Lit, and could afford no time for play. 
In this righteous mood, he led the life of a hermit 
through one whole week, at the end of which Jerry 
Altemus coaxed him to join a house-party at Stam- 
234 


A TRANSACTION WITH SHYLOCK 


ford. It sounded so extremely swagger that Merrill 
yielded to temptation. In the party were two or three 
older men, and they were fond of auction bridge. 

Jerry cautioned him, but Merrill insisted on play- 
ing with them, confident that the luck would turn his 
way. He needed the money, and, of course, he lost, 
and persisted in losing more. Soon after he returned 
to New Haven he negotiated another note with Sam 
Hopson, and was seen coming out of the building by 
the dawdling Altemus, who had just bought a bull- 
terrier, and was taking it out for a stroll. To be 
caught in a transaction with the local Shylock ap- 
pealed to him as merely humorous, and he therefore 
observed, with cheerful banter: 

“Five per cent a month is the crime of the century, 
eh, old top, but we have to have it to make the wheels 
go round. Why didn’t you come to me? I happen 
to have a bundle just now.” 

Merrill colored to his ears, and committed the blun- 
der of denying the charge. 

“Guess again, Jerry,” said he. “I had a date at 
the tutoring school on the third floor — it’s up to me to 
hire a man to help me pass off that confounded condi- 
tion in French.” 

The wise Jerry grinned, but made no comment, and 
proceeded to call attention to the fine points of the bull- 
terrier. Later in the day he lounged in Bob Sedg- 
wick’s room, and was moved to remark: 

“As the evil old man, who sits and looks on, I am 
considering the case of our natty comrade, ‘Ash’ 
23s 


SONS OF ELI 


Merrill. You have noticed nothing odd, I’m sure. 
You have not learned to observe, and you never think.” 

“A nice boy — a trifle dippy on the clothes proposi- 
tion,” absently replied Sedgwick, who was writing a 
long letter home. “ However, we all have our failings. 
Out in the woolly West he might be classed as a bit 
of a snob, but that kind of an air seems to go among 
you people. You are the same, only more so, Jerry.” 

“ Nonsense! I don’t go howling around the cam- 
pus that every greasy grind is my chum and brother 
because we chance to be in Yale at the same time. I 
didn’t ask your opinion of me. It’s of no consequence, 
anyhow. I saw Merrill coming down-stairs from Easy 
Money’s office, this morning, and he lied about it. 
Guilt was written all over his handsome countenance. 
An odd circumstance, Bob.” 

“Not at all,” retorted the other, who chronically 
disagreed with the verdicts of Jerry. “Merrill may 
have a sense of shame. You have none.” 

“As demonstrated by the fact that I consort with 
you. Too true ! On the level, Bob, there is something 
wrong with Ashton Merrill. He is in big trouble, and 
he is trying to bluff it out. This incident, the childish 
evasion with respect to the estimable burgler, Sam 
Hopson, confirms suspicions which had been lurking 
in my intelligent mind for some time.” 

“Oh, please shut up! Can’t you see I’m busy?” 
cried Sedgwick. 

“I am never too busy to be interested in a suffering 
human soul,” exclaimed Jerry, unperturbed. “Foot- 
236 


A TRANSACTION WITH SHYLOCK 

ball makes you beefy giants callous to others’ pain. 
You belong to one of the lower orders, a little higher 
than the lobster.” 

“ Lobsters are high, believe me!” seriously com- 
mented Bob. “I ordered two of them, broiled, last 
night, and the bill ” 

“I hope it broke you,” said Jerry, displaying irrita- 
tion. “Very well, it’s a waste of time to discuss mat- 
ters worth while with you. But, mark well what I 
say, you will feel sorry for Ashton Merrill some day. 
That boy has struck slippery going, and he’s almost 
due to skid.” 


II 

In the spring of the year, even a battered old buc- 
caneer of a money-lender, who profits by the folly of 
youth, may feel a sentimental impulse. There came 
to Mr. Samuel Hopson, from the small village in which 
he was born, the information that the family home- 
stead was about to be disposed of at public sale. His 
own kindred all rested in the churchyard, and the 
property had passed into alien hands, but it had be- 
longed to several generations of Hopsons, and it oc- 
curred to Samuel that he should like to become the 
owner of it. Some day he might wish to return to the 
hamlet with his ill-gotten gains, and be an honest 
country squire, with a few cows in the barn, and a 
garden to play with. 

Diverted by these pleasant reflections, he put the 
office key in his pocket and started off on a journey, 
237 


SONS OF ELI 


leaving his clients no other recourse than a pawn-shop. 
His destination was away from the main line of a rail- 
road, and he was compelled to wait at three different 
junctions, with connections so poor that the train left 
him behind on the last stage of the trip, and he found 
himself stranded overnight. This misfortune was en- 
dured in a spirit of tolerant resignation, and Mr. Hop- 
son determined to make the best of it by acquainting 
himself with this unfamiliar town. It was named 
Cedar Falls, and appeared clean, prosperous, and con- 
tented. He found a hackman at the station, who in- 
formed him that the hotel was several blocks distant, 
at which he elected to ride, and, for sociability’s sake 
and as a matter of habit, he climbed to the box instead 
of stowing himself inside. 

The driver was a broad-shouldered, hearty man, who 
looked as if he had lived out-of-doors in all weathers. 
Everybody called him Joe, and his own greeting was 
apt to end in a jovial laugh which matched his twin- 
kling blue eye and stalwart bulk. He held the reins 
over a pair of bays so well gaited, and showing such 
excellent care and condition, that the professional in- 
terest of Sam Hopson was awakened, and he warmly 
exclaimed : 

“ You don’t see a pair like that hitched into a public 
rig every day, brother. It’s a good deal in the han- 
dling of ’em, too. You know your business.” 

“ Those are good hosses, and they get treated right. 
Six year old, and sound as a dollar,” was the emphatic 
reply. 


238 


A TRANSACTION WITH SHYLOCK 


“They cost money,” observed Sam, with the air of 
an expert. “We used to think the automobiles would 
make ’em cheaper.” 

“They’re dear, and hard to find. Five hundred 
wouldn’t buy this pair of hosses. Staying in town 
long? Salesman, are you?” 

“I’m just here for the night — enjoying a little vaca- 
tion,” answered Mr. Hopson, who found the com- 
pany congenial. “Where is your stable?” 

“Around the comer from the hotel. Drop in after 
supper, if you find nothing better to do. You seem to 
be a man that likes to talk hoss.” 

The traveller accepted, with thanks, and disclosed 
the fact that he had driven a hack for many years and 
still owned an interest in a livery business. In the 
early evening he explored the main street, but soon 
tired of this because of twinges of rheumatism, and 
sought the livery-stable as a friendly haven. The 
building was in need of paint, but the interior seemed 
as clean as whitewash, brooms, and a hose could make 
it. There was the smell of hay and of healthy horses, 
which the visitor found pleasant. 

Joe, the hackman, sat in the office, a pipe in his 
mouth while he read a newspaper. On the walls were 
gaudy lithographs in praise of spavin cures and con- 
dition powders, portraits of famous trotters, and an- 
nouncements of live-stock auction sales. Sam Hopson 
sighed, for he was soon to be an old man, and he wished 
he were back again in a plug hat and a long silver- 
buttoned coat, ready for a fight or a frolic, instead of 
239 


SONS OF ELI 


getting rich at lending money to silly undergraduates. 
Selecting a splint-bottomed armchair by the street 
window, he cocked his heels on the sill, and ob- 
served: 

“ Who do you work for ? What’s the owner’s name ? 
I didn’t happen to look at the sign over the door. 
Been driving for him long, have you?” 

The other man laid down his paper, and laughed as 
he said: “I guess I’m the boss, if you don’t speak it 
loud enough to let my wife hear. When I’m short of 
help, I take a hack out, and nobody in our town thinks 
any the less of me. The fact is, that it’s hard to 
hire men you want to trust a good team of hosses 
with.” 

Sam apologized for his blunder, and declared that 
the drinks were on him, but Joe declined the invita- 
tion to adjourn to the hotel bar. 

“ Merrill is my name,” said he. “There are four 
brothers of us, all farmers but me. The family has 
been in this locality ever since the first settlers came 
over. I sort of drifted into the livery business, taking 
it over from an uncle who died of a sudden, and aim- 
ing to run it only till the estate was settled up. First 
thing I knew, all my money was tied up in it, and here 
I am.” 

The name of Merrill conveyed no more than a fleet- 
ing sense of association to Sam Hopson. 

“That’s something like my own stable,” he replied. 
“I bought an interest with my savings as a driver, 
and there’s never been quite the right chance to un- 
240 


A TRANSACTION WITH SHYLOCK 


load. Of course, the auto service has cut in, but there’s 
still room for the old-fashioned hay-burner even in 
New Haven.” 

Joseph Merrill displayed a lively interest as he ex- 
claimed: “So you come from New Haven! I wish 
you had said so in the first place. But maybe you 
aren’t much acquainted in Yale College. It’s foolish 
of me to get excited, for there’s as many as three 
thousand students there.” 

“Is some lad from Cedar Falls down there now?” 
politely queried Sam, quite certain in his own mind 
that he could offer no information. His clients moved 
in another social sphere. 

“It is my own boy — a Sophomore !” cried the proud 
parent, in stentorian accents, enjoying the dramatic 
moment. “Yes, sir, Ashton Merrill is a Yale man, 
and I’m proud of it ! ” 

The rubicund countenance of Samuel Hopson ex- 
pressed a kind of stupefaction, and he gasped for 
breath. Rallying from the shock, he tried to hide his 
chagrin that he should have been so completely taken 
in. There could not be two Ashton Merrills in the 
Sophomore class. The one whom he knew was stamped 
with all the marks of the millionaire caste, and went 
the pace with the others of his kind. If Sam Hopson 
had made such a blunder as this, then he was losing 
his grip, and it was time to quit. Grasping curmudg- 
eon that he was, guilty of outrageous usury, there was 
in him a kindlier, softer streak, and he could not bring 
himself to reveal the truth. It went against the grain 
241 


SONS OF ELI 


to demand payment of this country stable-keeper, 
who was fortunate if he earned a thousand a year above 
expenses. 

Something had to be said. Sam could not sit star- 
ing with his mouth open. At the window he was 
more or less in shadow, and the other man failed to 
perceive his distress. 

“ Ashton Merrill, did you say?” murmured the Shy- 
lock from New Haven. “It’s what you’d call a coin- 
cidence, blessed if it ain’t, my dear sir ! Why, he was 
pointed out to me only the other day as I was pass- 
ing by the campus. One of the best-known men of 
his class !” 

“Unexpected, this meeting his dad. I don’t blame 
you for being flabbergasted,” laughed Joe Merrill. 
“Me with a few hosses in an old barn, and a boy at 
Yale College. Here, Mr. Hopson, my house is right 
next door. Come in, and let me introduce you to his 
mother. You come from New Haven, and you have 
actually set eyes on our youngster. Looking well, was 
he? He don’t write as frequent as we’d like, but he’s 
busy. You know how it is.” 

The money-lender felt a most uncomfortable re- 
luctance to enter the house, and he had no desire 
whatever to meet Ashton’s mother, but there was no 
avoiding it. He was glad of a respite, when the father 
announced, as they marched into the sitting-room of 
the cottage: 

“She must have run in to see one of the neighbors 
for a few minutes. Never mind; we’ll wait here.” 

242 


A TRANSACTION WITH SHYLOCK 


The riddle was too much for Sam’s curiosity, and he 
ventured a leading question: 

“And how is the boy doing in college? Some of 
them study harder than others.” 

“Not a word of complaint from his teachers, Mr. 
Hopson; and he is careful to make his money go as 
far as possible. He has just so much to spend, and he 
hasn’t asked us for an extra dollar. There’s a lot of 
rich men’s sons at Yale, and I was a little mite afraid 
the example they set might turn his head, but I don’t 
have to worry.” 

“Some of ’em are inclined to make a splash,” gravely 
agreed the other. “Have you been down to visit the 
boy?” 

“Not yet; and I dunno as I’ll go at all. His mother 
feels about as I do. It’s an expensive trip, and — well, 
we’re pretty plain country folks, and we don’t feel 
quite up to visiting at Yale College.” 

“You make a mistake, in my opinion,” dogmatically 
declared Samuel. 

“It’s for us to judge,” quickly exclaimed Joe Mer- 
rill, as though his son had been criticised without cause. 
“Before my wife comes in, maybe I’d better explain 
how we were able to send him. You can look around 
and see for yourself that we couldn’t afford it. Ash- 
ton was possessed to go to Yale ever since he was in 
Cedar Falls High School. There was a camp of Yale 
students at Bow Lake for two summers, and he used 
to drive over there often. It was funny to see him 
imitate ’em, the way they wore their clothes and the 
243 


SONS OF ELI 

slang they talked, but this was only skin deep, of 
course. 

“ There wasn’t no way, though, to give Ashton what 
he wanted till my wife’s Aunt Mary Chickering up and 
died, and left her something in her will. It was enough 
to keep Ashton in college for two years, and after that 
I hoped my business might be in shape to carry him 
the rest of the way. The legacy would have come in 
mighty useful at home, and I argued for a while to 
coax my wife into keeping it; but you know what 
women are — unselfish creatures, all bound up in their 
children, and no sacrifice too great for ’em to make.” 

“Um-m! And how is business?” grunted the pil- 
grim from New Haven, who had sat as though unmoved 
by this recital. “ Can you see it through for two years 
more?” 

“We intend to, somehow,” was the stout rejoinder. 
“There’s hard luck and dull times in all lines. I lost 
two fine hosses last winter; colic killed one, and 
lock-jaw the] other. That’s my wife’s step at the 
door.” 

Sam came out of a brown study, and looked up to 
see a small woman, very slender, almost childish in ap- 
pearance beside her deep-chested husband. She seemed 
startled, even shy, at sight of a stranger, but he read 
her aright as the stronger, more purposeful soul of the 
two — the guiding spirit. In pursuit of an ideal, to 
attain a goal, she would go through fire and water. 
In a voice low and gentle, she expressed her pleasure 
at meeting Mr. Hopson; but when she was told that 
244 


A TRANSACTION WITH SHYLOCK 


he lived in New Haven, and had recently seen Ashton 
in the flesh, her eyes kindled, and the accents were 
beseeching as she said: 

“Oh, if you only could have talked with him! Do 
you happen to know any of his friends? Have you 
heard them mention him? He hasn’t been home since 
last September. At the Christmas vacation time he 
refused to come because of the expense.” 

Mr. Hopson was conscious of an intense dislike for 
this whole wretched situation. It was unfair to have 
business so entangled with sentimetit. He wished with 
all his heart he had never laid eyes on this cheerful 
stableman. Mrs. Merrill was the last straw. Dog- 
gedly he spun one kindly falsehood after another, 
painting Ashton as an earnest scholar and shining ex- 
ample, quoting what imaginary friends had said in 
praise of him. At length he pretended a headache, 
and so made his escape. 

Joe Merrill walked to the hotel with him, urging him 
to run in for breakfast with them before taking the 
morning train. Sam Hopson mumbled a pretext of 
some sort, for he swore to himself that he would not 
face the boy’s mother again. Joe sent sundry mes- 
sages to Ashton, exhorting him to keep up the fine 
record, and suggesting to Mr. Hopson that he ask him 
out for supper, as a particular favor, so that they 
might talk over Cedar Falls and the folks at home. In 
the morning, the pilgrim arose early, and footed it to 
the station lest Joe Merrill might invite him to ride on 
the box of the hack. Glum and abstracted was the 
245 


SONS OF ELI 


Shylock of the campus as he resumed his journey in 
quest of the Hopson homestead. 

He had been stung in the region of his pocket, a 
casualty most unusual. Ashton Merrill’s promissory 
notes were so much waste paper, unless they should 
be put up to his father, who, no doubt, would have 
t’o clap a mortgage on the stable or sell some of his 
horses. 

“And this young four-flusher trots in the bunch 
with Howard Vanderpool and Jerry Altemus and the 
other high rollers,” soliloquized the elderly pirate, as 
he glared at the landscape from a car- window. “And 
he was doing me a favor to come into my office at all. 
Not that he really means to skin me, but he’ll never 
be able to pay one dollar out of what he gets from 
home. I’ll have to hand it to him, though. He 
learned more, and he learned it quicker, than any lad 
that ever I see break into Yale College. His old man 
drives his own hacks! Could you beat it?” 

Ill 

Life at college had become like a fog to Ashton Mer- 
rill, and he could see no further than from one day to 
the next. He began to shun the friends whom he had 
valued so highly, and to feel that they were responsible 
for his troubles. He no longer sauntered into the 
most expensive shops; and when he happened to meet 
one of his creditors the sensation was disturbing. It 
was the tailor who brought the crisis to a head. He had 

246 


A TRANSACTION WITH SHYLOCK 


heavy bills of his own to meet, and collections were un- 
commonly slow. 

He was a long-suffering person, usually contented 
to let the student patrons settle as they pleased; but 
just at this time his patience was worn to a raw edge. 
These rich men’s sons had no right to keep him awake 
nights with business worries. They had the money, 
and it was unfair to let their honest debts drag through 
a year. He was tired of sending them monthly state- 
ments. In this rebellious mood, he encountered the 
immaculate Merrill on the Chapel Street pavement, 
and tried to look pleasant as he suggested: 

“ Sorry to bother you, but the account has been 
running some time, and a check would be a great 
favor.” 

“I expect to attend to it next month,” replied the 
young man, with a touch of hauteur. Tradesmen 
were not presumed to hold a fellow up in this annoy- 
ing manner. 

“Not next month, Mr. Merrill, but now,” persisted 
the obnoxious tailor, who resented the tone of voice. 
“Of course, I don’t like to have to send the bill to 
your father, but ” 

“Oh, there is no need of that,” he was hastily as- 
sured. “To-morrow will do? I’ll see you, without 
fail. I had no idea you were hard up.” 

“Thank you, Mr. Merrill,” said the tailor, molli- 
fied, but still alert. “I shall look for a check to- 
morrow.” 

Returning to the campus, Ashton realized that if 
247 


SONS OF ELI 


he should not keep his promise, other merchants might 
get wind of it from the tailor, and hasten to send their 
bills to his father. There was only one way of spar- 
ring for time — to borrow again from Sam Hopson, be- 
fore he, too, should become suspicious. 

It so happened that on this very day the accom- 
modating Samuel had returned from the expedition 
to the home of his ancestors. He was turning over 
in his mind the odd episode of the night in Cedar Falls 
when young Merrill himself entered the office. The 
money-lender studied him with a new interest. The 
boy was a singular proposition — not intentionally dis- 
honorable, but guilty of an elaborate scheme of decep- 
tion. His ambition in coming to Yale had been all 
wrong, for he had no idea of what education meant. 

“A couple of hundred more, if you don’t mind, 
Sam,” said the dapper Sophomore, whose smooth cheek 
was a trifle pale. “I shall begin paying it back be- 
fore long.” 

Undecided how to handle the case, Mr. Hopson 
concluded to delay action. He therefore made answer: 

“You have caught me short of cash, Mr. Merrill. 
For once, I can’t accommodate you. The boys have 
drained me dry.” 

’ He spoke respectfully, as was befitting in the pres- 
ence of this lordly young patron, who winced, mustered 
his courage, and ventured to ask: 

“Is it worth while coming in to-morrow, Sam?” 

“I’m afraid not. I went out of town to make a 
little real-estate investment on the side, and my bank 
248 


A TRANSACTION WITH SHYLOCK 


balance looks as if it had been hit by something. 
Can’t you touch your dad for an advance on the next 
term’s allowance?” 

“I suppose so,” said Ashton, as if it was really a 
matter of no great importance. At a leisurely pace, 
he left the office and passed, whistling, down the 
stairs. Mr. Hopson shook his head, and turned to the 
safe, from which he withdrew a tin box and absently 
cogitated, with young Merrill’s promissory notes in 
front of him. There was good in the boy, hidden 
somewhere beneath the sham and the pretense. 

“I’ll be condemned if I can send these notes to Cedar 
Falls,” said he to himself, “and yet I can’t afford to 
lose out on ’em. It’s kill or cure, and it sort of seems 
as though I had a duty to perform. I’ve got myself 
in up to my hocks.” 

He rumpled his gray hair with both hands, and a 
pleased grin appeared on his battered countenance. 
He was a pretty tough old sinner, and he was ready to 
add forgery to his crimes. He straightway composed 
the following telegram, and lost no time in sending it: 

Joseph Merrill, Cedar Falls , Vermont. 

Please come at once. Not sick, but need you. Very im- 
portant, Ashton R. Merrill. 

The operator in the railroad station at Cedar Falls 
received the message a few minutes before the after- 
noon local was due to leave and make the main-line 
connection with the night express, which ran through 
249 


SONS OF ELI 


to New York. He dashed outside and found Merrill, 
whose hack had just fetched two passengers. 

“This looks like a hurry call, Joe,” exclaimed the 
operator, giving him the slip of paper. “Too bad you 
can’t pull out on No. 14 and make New Haven to- 
morrow morning.” 

Ashton’s father was a man of action. Puzzled for 
an instant, he read the telegram twice over, leaped 
down from the box, and called to an idler on the plat- 
form: 

“Take these hosses to the stable, Ed, and tell the 
men I’ll be away a couple of days. I’ve got just time 
to ’phone my wife and explain it to her.” 

This was no easy task, but he told her that boys 
were liable to go. up in the air now and then, and prob- 
ably Ashton was in some kind of a snarl with his pro- 
fessors. His mind was too absorbed in wondering 
what could have caused this imperative summons to 
be conscious of his personal appearance. The clothes 
he happened to have on were respectable enough, but 
wrinkled and bagged by much wear, and a couple of 
buttons had been jerked off the coat that very morn- 
ing. He was fond of an old soft hat too wide of brim 
to be in fashion. It was useful in stormy weather, and, 
on his native heath, it was becoming to a man of his 
burly, breezy type. 

He rode all night in a sleeping-car, and rested poorly. 
It was eight in the morning when he jumped into a 
taxicab at the New Haven station and was driven to 
the campus. Ashton’s room was empty, and the 
250 


A TRANSACTION WITH SHYLOCK 


janitor told him that all the boys were in chapel. The 
father waited outside until the crowd came streaming 
forth, in noisy disorder, to scatter to the recitation 
halls. Ashton had lingered, as usual, avoiding the un- 
dignified rush, and he was walking alone, when Joseph 
Merrill hastily approached, both hands outstretched. 

“I jumped aboard No. 14 just as I was, right off a 
hack !” cried he, with his whole-souled laugh. “ What’s 
the matter, Ash? Your telegram threw a scare into 
me.” 

The amazed young man was dumb for the moment. 
The first sign of recovery, characteristically enough, 
was a quick glance aside to see who might be within 
earshot. Then he replied unsteadily, his wits wholly 
mystified : 

“ What telegram, dad? I never sent you one ! I — 
I — Of course, I’m awfully glad to have you here, 
but I haven’t the slightest idea what brought you.” 

His parent, more excited than before, rummaged in 
a pocket for the message, and flourished it as he ex- 
claimed : 

“Read it ! There’s your name signed at the bottom, 
and it couldn’t have been addressed to me any plainer. 
You say you never sent it? If I didn’t know better, 
I’d suspect you had started drinking since you came to 
college.” 

Ashton did as he was told, and looked up in a help- 
less manner. His bewilderment was so genuine that 
Joseph began to comprehend that he spoke the 
truth. 


251 


SONS OF ELI 


“Did somebody do it as a joke, son?” was the query. 
“What was the sense of it? I must let your mother 
know first thing.” 

“It’s beyond me. No, this couldn’t have been done 
as a joke. Better come to my room and sit down for 
a while. Have you had anything to eat?” 

“No appetite to speak of, Ash. Never mind about 
that. Yes, I guess we’d better go where it’s quiet, 
and talk things over. I’m sort of stood on my head.” 

They climbed the stairs of the dormitory, the Sopho- 
more in a silent humor, his thoughts not for his father 
to know. Such a visit as this, without warning, had 
never been foreseen. Joe Merrill halted as he entered 
the room, and looked about him with keen interest. 
He was not obtuse, and he wondered how the boy 
could have furnished his living quarters with so much 
elegance. The building itself, the glimpses into other 
rooms, as he had ascended, conveyed an impression 
of lavish outlay to one of his simple tastes. However, 
this was none of his business, for Ashton had lived 
within his income, and he said, as he lighted a cheap 
cigar: 

“Glad to see you so comfortably fixed. Well, now 
that I’m here, what’s the use of fussing over that bogus 
telegram? We’ll get at the bottom of it somehow, 
and I’m thankful you’re in no scrape. Sure everything 
is all right?” 

“Right as can be, dad. I want to hear the news 
from home.” 

“Presently, Ash. You look thin and out of condi- 

252 


A TRANSACTION WITH SHYLOCK 


tion to me, and your color isn’t as good as it was. Off 
your feed, or anything like that?” 

“Not a bit of it!” But the response was far from 
hearty. “They work us hard during the spring term, 
and perhaps I have been indoors too much.” 

“It’s a worried look,” persisted the father. “If 
there is anything on your mind, now’s the time to let 
it out.” 

Just then Jerry Altemus, wishing to borrow a text- 
book, strolled in, carelessly apologized, and murmured 
his errand. Ashton tried to meet the test, and failed 
miserably. He was on the point of letting Jerry with- 
draw without an introduction, hoping to evade the 
issue; but the elder Merrill stepped forward, with that 
genial smile of his, and heartily exclaimed: 

“One of your college chums, son? I want to meet 
a few of ’em while I’m here. You’ll have to tell him 
how I had to come at a gallop, without changin’ into 
my best clothes.” 

Ashton presented Mr. Altemus, who, in a flash, 
understood the situation, and warmed to the broad- 
shouldered man from Cedar Falls. One had merely 
to look at Joe Merrill to know that he rang true; and 
it was just as unmistakable that Ashton was ashamed 
of him, and chagrined at the exposure of his own pre- 
tensions which this visit entailed. It was a significant 
tableau, as viewed by the cynical Jerry, and he was 
able to surmise what had been wrong with Ashton. 
Friendly and deferential was the demeanor of Jerry 
as he addressed himself to Joseph, ignoring the son: 

2S3 


SONS OF ELI 


“ Ashton said nothing about expecting you, Mr. Mer- 
rill. Selfish of him, I call it; but I hope it isn’t too 
late to arrange a little dinner in your honor; and how 
about motoring to the field this afternoon to see the 
baseball practice?” 

“Thank you, Mr. Altemus,” was the sincere answer, 
and for some reason Joe’s eyes filled. Perhaps he, too, 
had perceived in the behavior of his son something 
which, against his will, made him suspect himself to 
be an intruder not wholly welcome. “I must go home 
to-night,” he went on, “and I won’t have time to play 
around. You see, I run a little livery-stable in my 
town, and, being short-handed just now, I have to 
take out the station hack and help tend to the hosses. 
There was some mistake about my coming to New 
Haven.” 

“A faked wire,” hastily put in Ashton, betraying his 
utter confusion at this reference to the stable. To 
make matters worse for him, there was a perceptible 
aroma of a horse in the room, and as he moved to open 
a window Jerry Altemus guessed why he did it. 

“A faked wire?” said the latter, and his voice had 
a biting edge. “How very extraordinary, Mr. Merrill ! 
I hope you don’t lay it to any of us fellows. We have 
no use for fakes at Yale.” 

The shot went home, and Ashton dared not let his 
father see his face. The house of cards had collapsed. 
Jerry moved to the door, offering his hand to Joe, and 
urging him to drop into the rooms on the next floor 
below. Left to themselves, the father regarded his 
254 


A TRANSACTION WITH SHYLOCK 


boy with slow, thoughtful deliberation. He knew men 
as well as horses. Finishing the scrutiny, he sighed 
and said: 

“ I guess 111 run out and send that message to mother. 
Shell be waiting.” 

“All right, dad. I have a recitation in ten minutes, 
and I really ought not to miss it. Ill be back in an 
hour. Do you want to look around and meet me 
here?” 

“Yes, Ash. We’ll go out to feed somewhere at noon. 
You needn’t bother to make me acquainted with any 
more of your friends.” 

While crossing Chapel Street, Mr. Merrill, of Cedar 
Falls, spied a familiar figure, and loudly hailed Samuel 
Hopson. They were glad to meet again, Joe assuring 
him: 

“I meant to look you up this afternoon. Never 
dreamed being here so soon, but somebody put up a 
job on me.” 

The campus Shylock grasped him by the arm and 
led him toward a side street, explaining: 

“Supposing we amble over to my stable, the one I 
told you I was interested in, and have a chat. In a 
hurry to telegraph home, are you? Better wait a 
little while.” 

This was uttered in a tone of command, and Joe sub- 
mitted, feeling the need of companionship. They soon 
turned into a dingy stable office, for all the world like 
Joe Merrill’s, with the same kind of an art collection 
on the walls. The strategy of Samuel was sound. 
255 


SONS OF ELI 


This was the best place in which to thrash out the case 
of the errant Sophomore. His father dropped wearily 
into a chair and gazed at the long aisle between the 
rows of stalls, and heard the horses munching hay. 
Sam Hopson puckered his grizzled brows, and said 
abruptly: 

“I saw you get off the train, and I laid for you at 
the campus, Merrill. You see, I knew you were com- 
ing.” 

Then you must be the rooster that sent the fool 
message,” was the indignant reply. “What in the 
mischief — Look here, Hopson, is anything wrong 
with your head ? ” 

“Nobody ever called it soft. Yes, I butted in, with 
good intentions, though I’m a mean old cuss, as a rule. 
I wanted you to size up the situation for yourself. 
How’s the boy?” 

“I don’t know what you’re driving at,” said the 
father, perplexed, and a little sad. “It’s plain enough 
to figger that you thought I was needed here, and you 
may be right. Ashton is dreadfully worried and up- 
set. He couldn’t hide it from me.” 

“You had better get it straight from me,” Sam grimly 
declared. “That lad of yours has been throwing a 
false front, dreaming he was rich, until he owed money 
right and left. I hold his notes for several hundred, 
so you can see how well he got away with the bluff. 
Hold on, now ! Don’t flare up. These notes can wait. 
That wasn’t why I sent for you.” 

“Let me see ’em. I’ll have to hear Ashton acknowl- 
256 


A TRANSACTION WITH SHYLOCK 


edge he signed ’em, before I believe he did such a 
thing!” cried Joseph Merrill. “If it’s true, 111 pay 
up, of course, if it takes my last dollar.” 

“You can’t afford to,” brusquely rejoined Sam, 
“and it will do the boy no good if you do squeeze out 
the coin to redeem this paper. Will you let me hand 
you some advice? I’ve been watching these lads for 
a good many years.” 

Joe Merrill sat brooding over the revelation which, 
in his heart, he feared could not be disproved. It con- 
firmed his own impressions, explaining why Ashton 
had seemed so unhappy and worn. His quick temper 
got the upper hand, and he burst out: 

“It was a blunder to send him to college! Spoiled 
him, has it? He ought to have been kept in Cedar 
Falls. The minute I’m sure of the facts, I’ll yank him 
home by the collar.” 

“It does spoil a few of ’em,” agreed Sam, “but we 
don’t have to give this one up a dead loss. Shall I 
send for him? In a history recitation, is he? I can 
write a few words that will fetch him here on the run.” 

Joe nodded assent. He was in no condition to think 
for himself. No more than a few minutes later, Ash- 
ton entered, out of breath, and failed to perceive his 
father as he exclaimed: 

“Hello, Sam! Dug up that two hundred for me, 
did you? Awfully obliged. Another note to sign? 
I had the dickens of a time to get excused— had to 
tell the prof that my old man was in town and insisted 
on seeing me.” 


257 


SONS OF ELI 


Sam pointed with his thumb, and Ashton turned, 
to behold his “old man” in a corner. The youngster 
gulped, threw up his hands, and started for the door, 
but Sam blocked the exit. In Ashton’s opinion, no 
more impossible situation had ever existed outside of 
a nightmare. He was speechless, and all he saw was the 
expression of his father’s face — hurt, disappointed, be- 
wildered. The culprit was expecting threats of pun- 
ishment, denunciation, a stormy scene, and this re- 
ception was so very different that he felt a lump in 
his throat, and the desire to be forgiven. A strong man 
was this father of his, a rock in time of trouble, as his 
own town knew, and for the first time the son was 
beginning to perceive that, compared with his own 
people, no other friends were worth while. This was 
an affair to be discussed betwixt him and his dad, as 
man to man, without Sam Hopson’s interference, and, 
with a dignity that was no longer assumed, Ashton 
pulled himself together and said: 

“I never intended to cheat anybody out of what I 
owed them. It was a case of getting started on the 
toboggan, and no way to stop. I’m darned glad, hon- 
estly, that you came to New Haven, father, though I 
didn’t seem very grateful. I couldn’t blame you if 
you took off your coat and gave me an old-fashioned 
walloping. But that wouldn’t square matters with 
Sam Hopson and the rest of them.” 

“Here’s where I poke another finger in the pie,” 
broke in Sam, who had been fidgeting, and rubbing his 
chin. “I soak rich men’s sons five per cent a month, 
258 


A TRANSACTION WITH SHYLOCK 


but my rate to livery-stable men in Cedar Falls is six 
per cent per annum; and, if I was asked, I’d say it 
would be agreeable to me to let Ashton Merrill work 
out the debt.” 

“ At home, with me, do you mean ? ” asked the father. 

“That’s fair enough,” exclaimed the son, “and I 
haven’t a word to say if you decide to put me in the 
stable; but if there was only some way for me to get 
another chance, and stay in college and try to make 
good — but — but I have no right to ask for another 
chance ” 

“You sound to me like a boy that had woke up from 
his bad dreams,” said Joseph Merrill, wistfully regard- 
ing the repentant prodigal. “If I take you back with 
me in disgrace, it will ’most kill your mother.” 

“Other fellows work their way through college,” 
earnestly exclaimed Ashton. “I could find something 
to do, and I am ready to tackle it.” 

“Those notes could be held till you get on your feet 
and can begin to make payments on ’em yourself,” 
suggested Sam, a Shylock so human that he was sur- 
prised at himself. 

“And my mother need know nothing about this — 
this trouble,” said her son, to whom this was the most 
vital fact of the argument. “I guess I needed some- 
thing like this, swift and sudden.” 

“I am willing to give the scheme a trial,” heartily 
asserted the sire. “We’ll send that wire to mother 
right away. I’ll say you were anxious to consult me 
about your plans, and things are satisfactory.” 

259 


SONS OF ELI 


These two left the stable arm in arm, and the younger 
man was no longer ashamed to be seen on the campus 
with the elder. Joe Merrill made one more remark, 
which displayed a wisdom far deeper than his boy’s 
career had hitherto shown: 

“I have a notion that a man like your friend, Jerry 
Altemus, will think a good deal more of you for buckling 
down to the job of getting an education in your shirt- 
sleeves.” 


HIS CODE OF HONOR 


His father was governor of a northern Chinese 
province remote from the sea, a rugged land of red 
hills and dusty plains extending to the Great Wall. 
Nobody knew how many million people were under 
his sway. They were a swarthy, big-framed stock, 
unlike the docile yellow coolies of the south, and their 
temper was turbulent. The empire in revolution, the 
overthrow of a dynasty, the establishment of a republic, 
and the amazing inrush of modern ideas had made no 
such commotion here as elsewhere. The spirit of the 
old China was still dominant. The governor ruled 
with wisdom, nor spared the iron hand of severity to 
maintain the semblance of law and order. What was 
more rare, he possessed integrity. 

The apple of his eye was his only son, young Sung 
Wu Chen, and it was for a momentous interview that 
he had summoned him to the audience-room after a 
crowd of lesser officials had departed with elaborate 
ceremonial and the rustle of silken robes. The gov- 
ernor was a spare man, a little bent over. Obeying 
the edict, he had cut off his queue, and the hair that 
showed beneath the mandarin’s cap was turning white. 
His thin face was wrinkled and tired, a face singularly 
intelligent and stamped with the caste of his aristo- 
cratic breeding and ancestry. 

The son showed the same fine strain, not moulded 
261 


SONS OF ELI 


from the common clay. Of smaller stature than his 
father, his manner had a kindred dignity and ease. 
It was significant that he wore European clothing, a 
serge suit smartly cut, while the governor was august 
in the flowing garments of his rank, whose pattern had 
been unchanged for centuries, a fan hanging from his 
jewelled girdle. The lad, Sung Wu Chen, bowed with 
courtly respect, and the father leaned forward in the 
chair of carved teak-wood to clasp his hand. They 
talked together in the dialect of their language that is 
peculiar to the scholar and the gentleman. 

“I have given much thought to your affairs,” said 
the governor, his expression a shade wistful. He aptly 
quoted from the Shing Yu, or Sacred Commands, for 
he was profoundly learned in the classics: “‘Pay just 
regard to paternal and filial duties, in order to give 
due importance to the relations of life.’” 

Sung Wu Chen smiled, and, not to be outdone, re- 
plied with a maxim of Confucius: “‘Knowledge pro- 
duces pleasure clear as water.’” 

“It is well said,” gravely spoke the governor, “but 
the old knowledge is passing and the world is turned 
upside down. What the Western mind calls the 
awakening of China is a process painful, disturbed, 
darkly uncertain. We are trying to run before we 
have learned to walk, my son. I myself am unable to 
acquire this new civilization with clear understanding. 
The brittle stalk of dry millet breaks before a rush of 
wind, but the young willow-shoot bends and readily 
adapts itself.” 


262 


HIS CODE OF HONOR 


The speaker filled the tiny bowl of his long-stemmed 
pipe with a pinch of tobacco and thoughtfully inhaled. 
His emotions were poignant, but he concealed them 
behind a philosophic calmness of aspect. His son was 
stirred to enthusiasm. It kindled his sensitive features 
and his gestures were ardent as he replied, speaking 
rapidly: 

“And I am the willow-shoot, most honorable sir? 
There are many of us, and it is important that we 
should be trained aright. Four thousand years of 
Chinese culture and tradition and precedent have 
been tossed to the rubbish heap. Only the founda- 
tions remain. I desire to learn how to build according 
to the methods and the sagacity of the West.” 

“Then you should not learn at second hand,” de- 
clared the elder man. “It is best for you to go from 
among your own people. The ways of the foreigner 
are already familiar to you. Ah, it is not long since 
we called them barbarians. The American tutor em- 
ployed for your benefit has taught you many things. 
You speak and write the uncouth language with an 
ease that astonishes me. This tutor gained his wisdom 
in a great university of his own land, the name of which 
is Yale. At Changsha, as you know, other graduates 
of this seat of learning have established a college called 
Yale in China.” 

“A friend of mine is a student at Changsha,” eagerly 
explained Sung Wu Chen. “It is wonderfully excel- 
lent, but at best a rivulet from the fountain and source 
in America. It is there, indeed, that I would go, with 
263 


SONS OF ELI 


your most gracious approbation, to what my tutor 
calls ‘the mother of men, old Yale.’” 

“It is so decreed, 1 ” said the governor, stifling a sigh. 
“I have arrived at this conclusion. Your departure 
will be arranged at the proper time.” 

The season of the year was summer, torrid by day 
and dry with desert winds. Doors and latticed win- 
dows were opened, and from the room in which they 
sat the spacious courtyard was visible. It was pop- 
ulous and noisy with house servants, yamen runners or 
messengers, interpreters, and ragged petitioners airing 
grievances, while a few infantrymen in khaki, of the 
new army, lounged on guard duty. In the street be- 
yond, as seen through the gilded gateway, eddied a tor- 
rent of humanity, of carts and camels and donkeys, all 
jostling, intermixed in stifling dust. Mongol and Man- 
chu and Chinese, they fought and sweated for bare 
existence in an overcrowded land. The reek of them 
and their filthy streets was blown into the courtyard. 
The son of the governor gazed out through the 
gateway and his elation was sobered. He beheld 
a problem almost beyond solving, a task to stagger 
the imagination. Earnestly he spoke, after long 
thought: 

“What can be done with this China of ours? Do 
those yonder know or care? Machinery, railroads, 
steamboats? They will bring starvation to millions 
who now toil with their backs and legs and hands. It 
is for me to try to grasp the economics, the history, the 
government of this Western civilization which we must 

264 


HIS CODE OF HONOR 


adapt to our own peculiar needs or perish as a nation. 
With profound gratitude, oh, my worshipful parent, I 
go to Yale in America to make myself worthy of you 
and my revered ancestors.” 

They bowed low to each other, and the governor 
went to confer with his secretaries. His son fled from 
the audience-chamber, shedding his dignity as he ran, 
and burst into another building of the compound. A 
clean-built young man in white linen sat with his feet 
cocked up on a desk, and he was reading a New York 
paper two months old. He raised his eyes from the 
sporting page, regarded Sung Wu Chen with quizzical 
interest, and drawled in English: 

“ Something doing? I have an intuition that my 
job is about to slip from under me.” 

His pupil slapped him on the back and replied in the 
same tongue: 

“Bully for us, Mr. Gray. He will send me to Yale. 
It is all your influence. I am under ten thousand 
obligations. But I think you may keep a job if you 
wish as a foreign adviser to my father. He esteems 
you very much, indeed.” 

“I wasn’t thinking of myself,” said Harvey Gray, 
who had been persuaded to quit the consular service 
for this more lucrative connection. “Outward bound 
for old New Haven, are you, Sung? Great luck. 
Just tell them that you saw me. Drop out to the field 
when the grads come back to coach the eleven and say 
you know an old pal of theirs. I have enjoyed these 
two years with you. I hoped all the time the governor 
265 


SONS OF ELI 

could come to see it my way. And so he has surren- 
dered.” 

“You bet, Mr. Gray. Can I enter the Sophomore 
class, do you think? And am I too small to play 
football?” 

“Without hurling posies at myself, Sung, you can 
break into the second year. That mind of yours runs 
on ball-bearings. As for football, I’m afraid you lack 
the heft, although you are there with the punch.” 

Sung Wu Chen looked disappointed, but he resolved 
to be as fine a pattern of a Yale man as Mr. Gray, 
nevertheless. They spent the rest of the day together, 
and the exiled American fought down the hungry 
homesickness that would not be denied. News travels 
fast in a swarming Chinese household, and that evening 
there came to Sung Wu Chen a burly, battered re- 
tainer with a scar on his chin. On the breast of his 
blue blouse was stitched a device to indicate that he 
belonged to the retinue of the governor, and he wore 
it with swaggering pride. His early history was clouded, 
but it was rumored that he had been a bandit con- 
demned to execution. In gratitude for pardon, he 
had attached himself to Sung Wu Chen when the boy 
was a little shaver, and had served as a body-guard, 
an attendant, a servant of matchless fidelity. When 
his young master walked in the city this Li Hwan fol- 
lowed unobserved. At night he lay on a straw mat 
not far from his master’s door. A truculent ruffian, 
his brawls with the police were notorious, and Sung 
Wu Chen had found him more or less of a nuisance. 

266 


HIS CODE OF HONOR 


On this night he was subdued and downcast as he said 
hoarsely, in one of the Shansi dialects: 

“I have beaten the chief cook and kicked two stable- 
boys for the lies they told me. Of course it is not 
true that you go to the cursed land of the Yankee 
foreign devils, there to live for many years.” 

“It is the truth, Li Hwan, and you must behave 
yourself hereafter, for I shall not be present to save 
you from jail. I go to become a great scholar.” 

“Too many books afflict one with sickness of the 
brain,” grunted the other. “Very well. I will get 
my things together and send my wives to the home of 
my mother for safe-keeping. When do we sail across 
the huge oceans in the smoke-boat?” 

“I cannot take you with me,” firmly answered his 
lord. “It is out of the question. Even if I would, 
there is a law in America that forbids such as you to 
set foot in the land. Only scholars and officials bear- 
ing papers from the Chinese Government at Peking 
are admitted.” 

“I shall go,” was the stout response. “Money 
shuts the eyes of the law. I have three hundred taels. 
If more is needed I will sell my youngest wife. She is 
beautiful and will fetch a good price.” 

“Nonsense, Li,” scolded Sung with a frown. “No 
more of this. My illustrious father will provide for 
you in my absence. I shall return in three years. 
Be careful, meanwhile, that the sharp sword of the 
executioner does not separate your worthless head 
from your shoulders.” 


267 


SONS OF ELI 


Li Hwan doggedly shook his head, grumbling to 
himself. It was inconceivable that the son of the gov- 
ernor should venture into an unknown world alone 
without his guardian shadow. Before morning the re- 
tainer was drunk on sam shui and had flung a venerable 
watchman into the canal. Promptly thereafter he 
vanished from the governor’s compound and was seen 
no more before the departure of Sung Wu Chen. The 
latter ordered a search, but it was futile, and in the 
excitement of preparation there was little time to re- 
member the troublesome, devoted Li Hwan. It was 
assumed that some vengeful coolie whom he had mal- 
treated took occasion quietly to slip a knife into him. 

A journey half around the world and Sung Wu Chen 
became a Sophomore at Yale. Inwardly bewildered, 
he displayed a perfect poise and seemed older, more 
mature than the others of his class. Well dressed, with 
an abundant allowance, his manners were those of the 
gentleman born, and it was soon discovered that his 
intellect was extraordinarily keen. It was worth not- 
ing that he was recognized for what he was by those 
of his own kind, the leaders of the campus, who were 
likewise sure of their own position. The men who 
affected a dislike or contempt for him as a “ Chink” 
were of a coarser grain and less nicely schooled in re- 
finement. 

Jerry Altemus, the polished, easy-going young cynic, 
admired Sung Wu Chen at first acquaintance, which 
soon grew into a congenial friendship. Here was a 
real philosopher, declared Jerry, who knew Confucius 
268 


HIS CODE OF HONOR 


from soup to nuts and appreciated the art of conver- 
sation. Sung confided his ambition to be a Yale 
athlete, at which Jerry commented with a weary shrug: 

“That Harvey Gray person who tutored you was 
an evil influence. This college runs so largely to 
muscle that it is both refreshing and valuable to have 
a brilliant scholar in our midst. Forget this delusion.” 

“But I intend to be a first-class Yale man,” amiably 
persisted Sung. 

“Then go and try for the varsity crew,” scoffed 
Jerry. “They are shy a Number Four to tip the scales 
at a hundred and ninety.” 

“Is it not as great an honor to steer the boat, to be 
coxswain, in the race against Harvard?” 

“Surely, but young Watterson has held the tiller 
ropes for two years,” replied Jerry with scorn, “and he 
is rated as some coxswain.” 

“Perhaps I can make myself a better one. It is 
said in the ‘Analects’ that ‘ worthy endeavor is not 
to be despised, even though one’s failure may cause 
laughter throughout the village.’” 

“ Go to it, oh, package of assorted maxims,” grinned 
Jerry. “Now tell me something interesting. Finish 
that yam of the rebel army that your dad chased into 
the mountains and slew to a man. How the deuce 
you can find anything exciting in college athletics ” 

“I shall report at the gymnasium to-morrow as a 
candidate for coxswain,” was the irritating response 
of Sung Wu Chen. “Yes, Jerry, I shall proceed to 
go to it.” 


269 


SONS OF ELI 


During the autumn term a dozen crews were prac- 
tising on the harbor, and the varsity squad was in the 
formative stage. One of the coaches was kind enough 
to put Sung into the stern of a class shell which was 
training for a series of scratch races. It was soon dem- 
onstrated that here was an apt student of rowing. 
Fie picked up the theory of it as readily as he at- 
tacked mathematics, and his eye was quick to detect 
faults in the serried blades and the swinging bodies 
ranged in front of him. What counted even more in 
his favor was a fact which Jerry Altemus had over- 
looked. The young Chinese was accustomed to com- 
mand, to speak with the voice of authority, to bend 
other men to his will. He was the son of his father, 
who ruled as an autocrat over millions of human souls. 
It was impossible that the lad should not have brought 
with him something of this atmosphere. He never 
swore or blustered as did the other coxswains, but when 
he gave an order he expected it to be obeyed, and it was. 

The men in his boat respected his ability and were 
too manly to resent him because his eyes slanted and 
his skin was of a different hue from theirs. In the 
varsity shell, however, as tentatively selected from 
the veterans of previous years, there was a sentiment 
less friendly. It was stirred up by Watterson, the 
coxswain, a waspish little chap, who foresaw that his 
place might be endangered. Jealousy of Sung Wu 
Chen became bitter dislike, which was shared by the 
Number Six, a hulking, overmuscled giant named 
Dollibare. His temper was sulky, and the more the 
270 


HIS CODE OF HONOR 


coaches hammered at him to mend his clumsy ways 
the less he liked rowing. He was tremendously power- 
ful, however, and worth working over. 

Watterson and Dollibare roomed together, for which 
reason they discussed their grievances more than was 
good for them. The coxswain spoke of Sung Wu Chen 
with contempt, and declared that things were rotten 
at Yale when a cocky little Chinaman was recognized 
as an equal and permitted to steer an eight. Dolli- 
bare, a big bully at heart, was for throwing the offender 
off the boat-house landing-stage, and otherwise hazing 
him. They did nothing but talk, however, and cold 
weather and a frozen river soon put an end to rowing 
activities until the spring season. 

Sung Wu Chen turned his attention to other forms 
of campus rivalry, and won a place on the university 
debating team, besides climbing to the head of his 
class in the rating for scholarship honors. This was a 
source of tremendous pride and satisfaction to the 
lonely, austere governor of a remote Chinese province. 
He doubled the salary of Harvey Gray, his foreign ad- 
viser, as a reward for his share in his son’s success, and, 
in phrases stately and ornate, conveyed the news to 
the Chinese minister in Washington, who was a kins- 
man of his. The minister invited Sung Wu Chen to 
spend a week-end with him, and gave a dinner in his 
honor. At Sung’s suggestion, Jerry Altemus and Bob 
Sedgwick, the varsity guard, were among the guests, 
and they met diplomatic notables of such high dis- 
tinction that it made them quite dizzy. 

271 


SONS OF ELI 

“And the little rooster puts on no airs whatever,” 
said Jerry to Bob as they discussed the affair. “He 
has a sound philosophy of life. Nothing like it. Stick 
around him and you may acquire the rudiments of a 
genuine education.” 

“You said something then,” was the careless reply. 
“And, what cuts more ice, I will bet you a box of cigars 
that he crowds Watterson out of the varsity shell and 
steers in the next Harvard race.” 

“Iam ashamed of you again,” severely returned Mr. 
Altemus. “Do you ever think of anything but ath- 
letics? Your development ceases at the neck. And 
you are base enough to bet on a sure thing.” 

Sedgwick was a shrewd prophet. During the winter 
the Head Coach of the crew met Sung in a social way, 
and discovered that he took rowing seriously as a sci- 
ence, studying to master it as a problem in applied 
mechanics. This was a novelty, for coxswains were 
apt to be flighty young rascals. When the oarsmen 
were once more upon the water, in the blustering days 
of March, Sung was promoted to the third varsity 
shell. The spray froze on his cheek, but his black 
eyes danced with happiness, and he envied not the 
pomp and power of his illustrious sire. 

One afternoon, when the crews had been kept cut 
late and twilight was falling, as he trotted up to the 
campus, muffled in sweaters, Sung descried a group of 
undergraduates in front of his dormitory entrance. 
There seemed to be some centre of attraction, and 
presently he perceived a singular figure seated upon 

272 


HIS CODE OF HONOR 


the stone steps. It was clad in Chinese garments, the 
long blue coat, the baggy crimson breeches, the white 
cloth shoes, and the round black cap. These looked 
bizarre on the Yale campus, and Sung surmised that 
the man might be a messenger from the Chinese lega- 
tion. As he drew near, however, and made his way 
through the curious group, his amazement was beyond 
words. In the failing light identification was difficult, 
but he thought he knew this man, and yet he refused 
to credit his eyesight. The singular apparition had 
sat crouching, with his hands tucked in his flowing 
sleeves, stolidly patient, but now he leaped to his feet 
and emitted a torrent of guttural sounds as harsh as 
the grinding of a coffee-mill. 

Sung Wu Chen doubted no longer. The rude ac- 
cents of the Shansi dialect smote his ears with wel- 
come familiarity. His own voice broke with excite- 
ment as he hurled one question after another. The 
bystanders cheered, having no idea of what it was all 
about, but delighted with the original performance. 
The chattering stranger was prostrating himself at the 
feet of Sung Wu Chen, almost fawning upon him like 
a dog that had found a long-lost master. He was a 
burly man of middle age, and during his two-hour 
vigil upon the stone steps the idling spectators had 
been wary of chaffing him, for his aspect was truculent 
and challenging. 

Presently Sung Wu Chen uttered a peremptory com- 
mand and the other meekly followed him into the hall 
and up the staircase. Once in his rooms, Sung locked 
273 


SONS OF ELI 


the door against curious intrusion, and his retainer, 
Li Hwan, stood like one awaiting punishment. His 
master motioned him to a chair, but he tucked up his 
garments and seated himself upon the floor. The 
episode was absolutely incredible. It could have been 
no more so if this battered ruffian had come sailing 
down from the moon. 

Evidently the heaven-bom offspring of the glorified 
ruler of Shansi intended not to summon an American 
executioner at once, for his deified countenance was 
not black with wrath, wherefore the weary pilgrim from 
Cathay picked up heart, permitted a grin to bisect his 
unlovely features, and plucked a box of cigarettes from 
his sleeve. Sung Wu Chen renewed his wondering in- 
terrogations, and he was answered in a rambling sing- 
song, delivered in a matter-of-fact manner, as though 
nothing extraordinary had been done. 

“It was necessary, 1 ” said Li Hwan. “Who was 
there to serve and protect you in this devil-begotten 
land of barbarians ? I walked from Shansi to the sea. 
A thousand miles? A million? I know not. It was 
a long way, a journey of months. At Tientsin there 
was a smoke-boat. It carried me to Shanghai. There 
I found another smoke-boat, huge, monstrous, and 
filled with the population of many villages. After that 
the world was nothing but water, most uneasy water, 
and dreadful sickness took hold of me by the stomach 
and tormented my liver, and I died more deaths than 
could be counted. After that was a fire-wagon on a 
road of steel, crossing swiftly over mountains and 
274 


HIS CODE OF HONOR 

great plains like those of Shansi, and cities whose 
buildings touched the sky.” 

“But all this explains nothing,” broke in Sung Wu 
Chen. “The rattle of pebbles in an earthen pot! 
You couldn’t speak English. You could never fi n d 
New Haven alone. And, in the first place, the laws 
of this government forbade you to come. How did 
you trick the inspectors, the police, the magistrates? 
It is unheard of.” 

“I am here,” was the irrefutable argument. “Per- 
haps at some time, when I was a bad man, there were 
favors done a certain high official in Peking. He may 
have had an enemy whose presence vexed him. Who 
can tell? In gratitude certain writings, sealed and 
properly prepared, may have been granted me.” 

“Proclaiming you as a scholar entitled to travel and 
study in this country?” demanded Sung. “You are 
a gifted liar. You paid gold to other Chinese to 
smuggle you in, as you once smuggled salt across our 
own province. If you have not the documents to 
show, this government will find you and send you back, 
with heavy penalty.” 

The unterrified Li Hwan tapped his blouse but re- 
fused to show what was hidden therein. There was, 
indeed, a crackle of paper, and Sung felt inclined to 
believe that the wily rogue had some sort of credentials. 
He refused to incriminate himself further, explaining, 
however, that the unsuspecting Harvey Gray had 
written down for him the address of New Haven and 
Yale College. This Li Hwan had employed a com- 
275 


SONS OF ELI 


prador’s clerk at Tientsin to copy upon a piece of 
stout parchment which he had sewn to the lining of 
his blouse. 

“And this was read by the men of the fire-wagons,” 
commented Sung, “and they forwarded you from one 
place to another as bales are carried across the desert 
on camels. Have you any money left?” 

“Only the value of a few strings of cash, even though 
I sold my youngest wife for a very fine price. I want 
nothing but a mat to sleep on, and rice and dried fish 
to eat.” 

His master gazed at him in comical perplexity. 
There was to be no getting rid of him. As a pre- 
tended scholar sojourning in the United States, he 
vastly appealed to Sung’s sense of humor. This mas- 
querade was out of the question at Yale. He would 
explain the situation to the dean and ask permission 
to retain Li Hwan as a personal servant who should 
take care of his rooms, finding him lodgings among 
the Chinese laundrymen of New Haven. 

The dean made an exception to the rules concerning 
valets and the like, but this by no means solved the 
problem. Li Hwan scornfully refused to consort with 
the pallid coolies from Canton, who spoke not his 
dialect, and were despicable in the sight of a strong 
man from the north. He wriggled through a base- 
ment window of the dormitory and slept there a week 
until evicted by the janitor. At his wit’s end, Sung 
leased a tiny bit of ground near the boat-house, and 
erected a portable cottage of two rooms, in which Li 
276 


HIS CODE OF HONOR 


Hwan consented to live alone. He fished from the 
bridge when at leisure, and watched the crews with 
absorbed interest. Never did Sung walk between the 
campus and the boat-house but Li Hwan flitted a 
block or two behind in his felt-soled shoes, vigilant, de- 
voted, and ready to lay down his life. 

When the eights began to round into form and there 
were almost daily races of a mile or so for practice, 
this exotic follower could be seen scampering along the 
shore, his skirts flying, or perched at the end of a 
wharf. And when the crew of which Sung Wu Chen 
was coxswain swung into the lead, or nipped another 
eight in a driving spurt at the finish, there came over 
the water a shrill and prolonged “Hi-yi-yi-yi-yi.” 

In May Sung was given a trial in the varsity boat, 
and the wrathful Watterson glowered from the land- 
ing-stage. The Chinese rival had been getting on his 
nerves. His temper was erratic and his steering faulty. 
He damned the men incessantly, and they were tired 
of him, excepting Dollibare at Number Six. He was 
pulling in better form and seemed sure of the posi- 
tion, but the coaches doubted his courage in a tight 
pinch. 

At the training-table, where there should have ex- 
isted a comradeship close-knit and genial, these two 
were a jarring element. Dollibare swore he would 
never sit at the same table with Sung Wu Chen. 

The sulky Number Six submitted, however, when 
the Coach concluded to drop Watterson from the squad 
and to replace him with the abler Chinese. The latter 
277 


SONS OF ELI 


was icily courteous, and Dollibare was conscious of an 
inward reluctance to force the issue. His enmity found 
no allies among the crew, and he contented himself 
with nasty little flings, studied insults clumsily masked. 
In the eyes of Sung he was a boor of peasant stock 
who knew no better. American democracy was a fine 
ideal, but he discerned the caste marks of birth and 
breeding as unmistakably as among his own people. 

This oarsmanship was more or less inscrutable to 
that devoted slave Li Hwan. He accepted it because 
his master chose to amuse himself in this peculiar 
fashion, but he could not comprehend why these young 
men did not hire coolies to perform the labor in their 
stead. He was loitering at the boat-house, scowling 
over this mystery, when Jerry Altemus and a chum 
came down to watch the crew go out. They at- 
tempted amiable conversation with him, and taught 
him the Yale cheer, and, to return the kindness, he 
fished a set of Chinese jack-stones from his raiment 
and found them apt pupils. Jerry could never over- 
look a chance to bet, and Li Hwan was a born gambler. 
The pastime became animated, therefore, with a clink 
of nickels and dimes. 

Dollibare sprawled in the sun, stripped to the waist, 
the muscles knotted on his sunburnt back and shoul- 
ders. Sung Wu Chen came down the runway to the 
landing-stage, moving at a trot, for the Coach had 
called him to take two substitutes out in the pair- 
oared working-boat. With a laugh Dollibare flung out 
a hairy leg and neatly tripped the coxswain, who fell 
278 


HIS CODE OF HONOR 


headlong and slid across the planking, his hands filled 
with splinters. 

He was on his feet like a cat, saying not a word but 
wheeling to rush at the sneering Numbei Six, who 
overtopped him by a foot. Dollibare lazily reached 
out, not troubling himself to rise, caught Sung by 
one arm, pulled him down, and slapped his face. 
Before the others could intervene Li Hwan had dropped 
the jack-stones, hurdled clean over Jerry Altemus, 
and his crimson breeches seemed to be striding the air 
as he alighted squarely on top of young Mr. Dollibare. 
The latter turned white, uttered one quavering yell, 
and then his windpipe was constricted by two corded 
brown hands whose grip was death. 

They were pried apart before his neck was broken. 
Sung bade his defender begone and violently cuffed 
his ears. Li Hwan grinned and vanished without a 
sound. Dollibare was unable to row for three days, 
and the marks on his neck were as blue as India ink. 
His demeanor was chastened and he started suddenly 
at unaccustomed noises. He ignored Sung, who was 
at pains to wish him a pleasant good morning. It was 
the verdict of the campus, as voiced by Jerry Altemus, 
that Li Hwan should have been allowed to finish the 
job. Dollibare was not a popular man. 

The crew went to New London early in June, and 
Sung sported the white flannels of a varsity oar with 
the embroidered blue letters on the pocket of the coat. 
The imperial decorations bestowed upon his father 
could not compare with this insignia. Li Hwan was 
279 


SONS OF ELI 


in a tent behind the Freshman quarters, and he bought 
him a flat-bottomed skiff and a pair of field-glasses, 
armed with which he followed after the crew and 
scanned the daily work with oracular gravity and 
abysmal ignorance. 

Two days before the race with Harvard the Coach 
took Sung over the four-mile course in a launch for 
final instruction in the marks, the current, the tide, 
and the channel. There was more eel-grass on the 
western side than usual, and it was important, if Yale 
should chance to draw this course, that the first two 
miles should be steered with cunning care, for the race 
was to be rowed down-stream. 

“A cross wind will tend to set you over,” cautioned 
the Coach, “ and if you once go wide of the flag and into 
the shoal water the drag of the grass will hold the boat 
back as sure as guns. At a mile and a half you swing 
out into the channel and then it is clear sailing. But, 
for heaven’s sake, watch your boat and your marks 
over this stretch ! It may mean winning or losing the 
race.” 

The coxswain nodded. He was the calmer of the 
two. He had been stealing out at daylight, in Li 
Hwan’s skiff, to drift along the edge of the eel-grass 
at every stage of tide. Harvard and Yale appeared 
to be so evenly matched that neither could 7 afford to 
sacrifice a single foot of distance in the contest. Even 
Sung felt the strain and suspense, and on the last night 
at the Gales Ferry quarters he went to find Li Hwan. 
He wished to get away from the restless, absent-minded 
280 



They were pried apart before his neck was broken. 




















































































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* V' 







































* 





































































HIS CODE OF HONOR 


oarsmen, the forced gayety, the heavy silences. There 
was homely comfort in chatting with Li Hwan of their 
own adventures amid the red hills of Shansi, of hunt- 
ing the leopard, and of cruises in high-pooped junks 
on turbid yellow rivers where the rocks snatched the 
bottom out before you could wink. 

“What is your opinion of the Yale crew?” sud- 
denly demanded Sung with a twinkle. “How many 
taels have you bet that we win the great combat with 
oars?” 

“Fools and lunatics are these deluded young men, 
excepting your enlightened self,” emphatically an- 
swered Li Hwan. “It is proper that you sit in the 
narrow boat and give them the commands. They 
are your servants. A bet? Yes, I have wagered my 
last tael with the cook of Harvard, who is a black man 
from Africa. It was in my mind to offer him money 
to put poison in the food of those boat-row madmen, 
but fear of your disfavor restrained me.” 

“I would have tossed you in the river to drown,” 
Sung told him. “You believe Yale is strong and 
ready?” 

“There is one man of these eight servants of yours 
who is not to my liking,” the other gravely imparted. 
“I have known this pattern of man in our own Shansi. 
There was one in my youth, a village bully of huge 
size and strength and threatening words. The head- 
men and elders feared him. He had many followers 
of his own clan. They robbed strangers and looted 
shopkeepers of their wares. Alone I caught this ter- 
281 


SONS OF ELI 


rible fellow and beat him until he wept for mercy like 
a woman. His heart was soft and rotten within his 
breast, like a melon too long in the sun.” 

“You speak of the one called Dollibare?” said Sung. 
“I feel contempt for him, but in the race he will pull 
with tremendous effort.” 

Li Hwan grunted dubiously and changed the sub- 
ject. It was presumptuous of him to air his judgment 
in matters of which he knew nothing. Presently the 
Captain of the crew shouted a summons and the cox- 
swain went to join his comrades for a walk before bed- 
time. The place was early astir next morning, and all 
eyes sought the river whose surface lay unruffled be- 
neath a cloudless sky. There was every promise of 
perfect conditions for the race. T.he oarsmen, who had 
dreaded postponement more than anything else, be- 
came cheerful, their nerves taut and ready now that 
the crisis was at hand. At length the whistle of the 
referee’s launch sounded the fateful call, and the Yale 
shell moved at a leisurely pace toward the starting- 
point. 

A small breeze began to ripple the water, at first 
in catspaws, then with a steady draught, and it blew 
athwart the course. Sung Wu Chen was anxious as 
he felt it increase, but he appeared unperturbed as he 
deftly manoeuvred the shell into position on the eel- 
grass side of the course. The Harvard crew came 
tardily, and there was a trying delay at the stake- 
boats. Along the wooded shore hard by trailed the 
observation-train, a riot of tumult and color, and the 
282 


HIS CODE OF HONOR 


lower stretch of river was a wonderful panorama of 
pleasure craft. 

The racking suspense of these final moments, the 
presence of this great multitude of spectators, seemed 
to affect the Number Six of the Yale boat in a singular 
manner. Beneath the tan his complexion had a gray- 
ish cast, and his lips were bloodless. The coxswain 
had to speak to him several times before he paid heed. 
He resembled a victim of stage-fright. Only Sung 
Wu Chen, who sat facing him, was aware that Dolli- 
bare was in a state of funk. He appeared to master 
it, however, when the referee told the crews to get 
ready. An instant later the two shells shot away to 
a faultless start, and the eight men of Yale were row- 
ing as one, with no apparent flaw at Number Six. 

At the half-mile flag Harvard had dropped a length 
behind and was unmistakably the slower, less powerful 
crew. To those who could speak as experts it looked 
like a procession led by Yale. Sung Wu Chen, sway- 
ing in the stern, tensely clutching the tiller-ropes, 
yelled for a spurt, and his rudder drew farther ahead 
of Harvard’s prow. A little beyond, however, and 
from the tail of his eye the coxswain perceived that 
his own crew was very slowly dropping back. Un- 
able to credit it for a moment, he shouted again, and 
the Yale stroke-oar swung up quicker and harder, 
while the others followed the cadenced beat that he 
set for them. 

This effort was futile, for the rival eight crept nearer 
and was closing the gap. Sung Wu Chen gazed ahead 

283 


SONS OF ELI 


at the next flag which marked his course and discerned 
that he was a trifle too far to the westward. Mindful 
of the cross wind, he had been making allowance for a 
possible drift, but the shell seemed to be sagging off 
toward the shore in spite of his efforts to hold it straight. 
He ceased to think of Harvard, and was concerned 
only with keeping his boat safely clear of the shoaler 
water and the dangerous eel-grass. Once he glanced 
over his shoulder and the figures in the bow of the 
coaching launch that churned in the wake of the race 
were wildly waving their arms at him. 

The slender nose of the shell persisted in veering 
away from the flag, and the straining rudder could not 
hold it straight. The wind was not heavy enough to 
account for this. The coxswain scanned his men for 
signs of weakening. The wet blades rose and flashed 
and fell in unison, and the bare, brown shoulders moved 
like a machine to the long heave of the catch. A second 
glance at Number Six and Sung realized that Dollibare 
was little better than a passenger. He went through 
the motions of the stroke with automatic precision, as 
his big body had been drilled to perform them, but he 
was like one in a trance, with mind benumbed and ner- 
vous energy deadened. This the sagacious coxswain 
read in his face. Thus had cowardly fear written itself 
upon the countenances of men led forth to die, as the 
son of the governor had beheld them in far-distant 
Shansi. Of a truth, the heart of this Dollibare had 
turned to water. Frantically the coxswain exhorted 
him, raked and blistered him with insults, hoping to 
284 


HIS CODE OF HONOR 


goad him into action, to shame him into a very fury 
of endeavor, but the craven Number Six could not 
respond. 

Three men on the starboard side of the shell were 
really rowing against four on the port. Add to this 
disparity the pressure of the breeze and it was impos- 
sible for the rudder to keep the course true. Yale was 
edging away from the channel, steadily drawing closer 
to the margin of the eel-grass, and Harvard as steadily 
pulled up abreast and began to lead. Soon Sung Wu 
Chen could feel the drag beneath the keel, as though 
invisible hands had grasped the boat to hold it back. 
The blades of the oars splashed and failed to get the 
solid grip of deeper water. The crew appeared to 
flounder. There was angry, gasping outcry from 
stroke to bow, begging the coxswain for God’s sake to 
get out of the grass and give them a chance. 

There was a full half-mile of this nightmare, and 
then the hapless shell shot clear and veered into the 
wide reach where the full tide swept toward the sea 
and scoured the channel clean. For Yale it was no 
longer a boat-race but a tragedy. Six lengths behind 
at the navy-yard, it seemed useless to endure the weary 
grind of two miles more. Ten thousand disgusted 
partisans, afloat and ashore, blamed it all to the 
Chinese coxswain, who had thrown the race away. 
He himself knew better and also knew that he was to 
be the scapegoat. 

Seven men, bitterly desperate and profoundly cou- 
rageous, in the splendid folly of youth believing that 
285 


SONS OF ELI 


theirs is an affair of life and death, are never beaten 
this side of the finish line. They set out to make a 
stern chase of it, not two miles of hard rowing, but one 
continuous spurt, every stroke pulled as though it were 
the last one. It was a feat such as makes college sport 
nobly worth while. 

Their ardor was so like a flame that it even scorched 
the soul of Dollibare and he came out of his panic- 
born stupor. He was no longer the mere semblance 
of an oarsman. The blade buckled to the lift of his 
mighty back and his hairy legs drove the finish home 
like twin pistons. • The coxswain steered as straight as 
an arrow, and the balanced stride of the shell resem- 
bled the harmony of music. They could not win, 
the odds against them were too great, but in two heart- 
breaking miles they regained five of the lost boat- 
lengths, and their quivering shell was lapping the 
Harvard stern as they drove past the final flag. It was 
a defeat and yet an intrinsic victory. 

This the multitude could not comprehend. They 
honored the men who had so nearly won, but, never- 
theless, it was Harvard’s race, and the crimson ban- 
ners flaunted while the blue flags drooped. A blunder- 
ing coxswain had brought disaster to an eight which 
could not have been beaten otherwise. This was the 
verdict of the crowd. There was a rush to the shore 
when the exhausted Yale oarsmen clambered from 
their shell into the launch, and louder than the cheers 
for their pluck was the angry denunciation of Sung 
Wu Chen. The fact that he was of an alien race in- 
tensified the feeling. 


286 


HIS CODE OF HONOR 


While the launch steamed up-river to the quarters 
he sat apart from his comrades, immobile as an image 
of old ivory. They had no word of blame. He had 
done his best, they said, and the wind had tricked him. 
The coxswain was aware, however, that in their opin- 
ion he alone was responsible. Every man of seven of 
them had been too intent upon his own tremendous 
task to read the soul of Dollibare and find him culpable. 
It was forbidden to Sung Wu Chen to reveal the truth 
and shift the guilt. Even should he stoop so low as 
to be a talebearer, Dollibare would deny the charge 
and there was no manner of proof. The coxswain 
made haste to leave the quarters nor tarried to say 
farewell. Li Hwan waited with the skiff and rowed 
him across the river to find a train. 

They went straightway to New Haven, avoiding 
friends, shunning the crowd. Li Hwan asked no ques- 
tions and made no comments. He had beheld the 
race and its aftermath, and clearly comprehended the 
significance of this misfortune. In the sight of a vast 
number of barbarians his ineffably illustrious lord had 
lost face. It was the supreme catastrophe that could 
have befallen. His base-born slave dared offer no 
sympathy. It was his duty to await commands. The 
demeanor of Li Hwan was no more swaggering. He 
appeared crushed and dazed. Sung Wu Chen busied 
himself in his rooms, dragging a trunk from the closet, 
while his servant dumbly waited in the hall. 

The door opened and Sung beckoned. Li Hwan 
stood with bowed head, his hands in his sleeves, his 
beady eyes furtively watching every change of expres- 
287 


SONS OF ELI 


sion on his master’s face. It was needless to discuss 
or even mention the significance of what had occurred. 
At a word Li Hwan began to pack clothing while Sung 
emptied the desk and threw most of the contents into 
the fireplace. The books and furnishings he left un- 
touched, removing only such property as was peculiarly 
personal. What he was about to do should be per- 
formed elsewhere than in this college dormitory where 
dwelt his best friends. In this hour modernity was 
a veneer and he belonged with the China of his fathers. 
It was not meet that he should risk vexing the fung- 
shui , the spirits of wind and water, and so disturb the 
fortunes of this building. 

Late in the evening he was ready to quit his campus 
lodgings. Li Hwan went with him to the pretentious 
hotel beyond Chapel Street, where he asked the clerk 
for a suite, as befitting his rank, for he was no longer 
a Yale Sophomore, but the only son of the governor of 
Shansi. Before writing certain necessary letters he 
vouchsafed an explanation to the servant, whose stal- 
wart body was trembling. 

“His Excellency, the Chinese minister, will come 
from Washington to arrange all matters in the proper 
manner. You will wait for him, Li, and he will send 
you to our home in safety and comfort. To my father, 
the Tsungtuh and dispenser of shining wisdom in the 
city of Taiyuen Fu, you will bear my message which 
I shall write to-night and wrap in silk.” 

Timidly Li Hwan ventured to inquire, his posture 
reverential: “There is no other way? I am a man 

288 


HIS CODE OF HONOR 


without brains and unable to understand this boat- 
rowing, but is it not the truth that this misfortune 
was no fault of thine ?” 

“It was no fault of mine,” agreed Sung Wu Chen, 
willing to confide this much in one who was of his own 
people. “There was a wind, but not enough to ac- 
count for — for what happened to-day on the river in 
the presence of a vast assemblage.” 

A long silence, and then Li Hwan shifted uneasily 
but kept his thoughts to himself. Notwithstanding 
Sung’s gesture of dismissal, he lingered as though await- 
ing some word of farewell. At length he burst out with 
startling vehemence: 

“The thing must have been done by one man. His 
ancestors were village dogs and he is unfit for the com- 
pany of scavengers. Did I not revile him when we 
spoke together in the evening of yesterday?” 

“Number Six?” murmured the coxswain with a 
shrug. “The mighty Dollibare? It is foolish to re- 
vile. They who respect themselves will be honored, 
says the Chinese proverb which you learned at school. 
You will find me here in the morning, Li Hwan. I 
have matters to attend to. Go at once.” 

The retainer prostrated himself, his forehead touch- 
ing the floor in the kowtow due one of exalted sta- 
tion. It was rather a tribute than a ceremonial. 
Then he stole from the room and softly closed the door. 
Sung Wu Chen sighed and began to compose the letter 
to his father, using a brush to draw the characters with 
beautiful art, the phrases polished with deliberate care. 

289 


SONS OF ELI 


He quoted the praiseworthy example of Admiral Ting, 
who had taken his own life sooner than endure the dis- 
grace of defeat in the harbor of Wei-hai-wei. In the 
sight of the great university of Yale and of its scholars 
and friends throughout the land, he, Sung Wu Chen, 
had committed an unpardonable offense and dragged 
its banner in the dust of humiliation. It was no other 
sage than Mencius who had written: “Although I 
love life, there is that which I love more than life.” 

When this filial task was finished the son of the 
governor poured out his heart in English to Harvey 
Gray, his old comrade and tutor, telling him the facts 
in detail, and begging his forgiveness, with the injunc- 
tion to try to make the father comprehend how and 
why the race was lost. Having despatched the re- 
maining business, the coxswain meditated, his gaze 
drawn to the small automatic pistol on the table be- 
fore him. In such a situation as this many eminent 
Chinese had swallowed gold as the traditional manner 
of honorable suicide, among them the Emperor Ts’ung- 
cheng. It was regrettable, reflected Sung, that he 
knew not how to prepare this draught. 

The hour was past midnight. There was nothing 
more to be done. His affairs were in order. A knock- 
ing at the door, and he turned angrily in his chair but 
made no response. A tattoo of impatient knuckles 
and he still kept silent. A fist banged the panels. A 
moment later the door flew from its hinges with a 
splintering crash and Li Hwan tumbled into the room. 
Bounding to his feet, he wheeled and dragged in after 
290 


HIS CODE OF HONOR 


him a tall, heavily built young man in the white flannels 
of the varsity crew. His face, pallid beneath the tan, 
was bruised and scratched, his coat torn. He breathed 
with difficulty, as though exhausted, and his manner 
was stupefied like one deprived of volition. 

From his chair Sung Wu Chen gazed at the hapless 
Dollibare, and perceived that he was in the grip of that 
same panic fright which had paralyzed his will in the 
first two miles of the race. He was trying to speak 
in a faltering voice, but Li Hwan declaimed in accents 
ferocious : 

“Let him be dumb until I have said my say. He 
came willingly after I had caught and mastered him. 
Through this huge hotel he marched at my heels, 
knowing that death was in my two hands.” 

It was the unregenerate Li Hwan that thundered 
this, the man of brawls and forays, who may have once 
worn the red sash of a Boxer and screamed destruction 
to all foreigners in the streets of Taiyuen Fu. Sung 
spoke sharply and he subsided, permitting Dollibare 
to stammer: 

“This d-damned murderer was laying for me. He 
must have followed me across the campus. I was 
turning on the lights in my room when he jumped on 
my back. What’s it all about?” 

“One guess should be enough,” replied Sung Wu 
Chen, his intonations precise. “My servant is not as 
great a fool as he looks. He tamed you, eh, Dollibare ? 
You did not call out for the police? You came as if 
you were tied on a string?” 

291 


SONS OF ELI 

“He would have stuck a knife into me if I hadn’t. 
I had no choice.” 

Li Hwan glared so frightfully that the poltroon 
dodged and raised his arm. It had been the amiable 
purpose of the captor to extort a confession by means 
of a knotted cord about the temples, or something of 
the sort, but Sung Wu Chen was wiser, and he saw 
that nothing more was needed to achieve the end de- 
sired. Physical cowardice had utterly broken Dolli- 
bare, who believed that the barbarous Li Hwan would 
not hesitate to slay him where he stood. 

“You will not deny that you failed to pull your 
share in the race?” smoothly queried Sung. “You 
know this was why I could not steer the boat away 
from the eel-grass?” 

The culprit tried miserably to exculpate himself, 
explaining in a rush of words: 

“I didn’t realize it at the time, old man, but I’m 
afraid I didn’t get much power on my oar. It was 
an extraordinary feeling. I meant to talk it over with 
you, but you slipped away from the quarters in a 
hurry, and — well, it may have had something to do 
with your getting in trouble on the first half of the 
course. But what about this infernal heathen of 
yours — the way he treated me? — you are responsible 
for him.” 

“I swear to you, Dollibare, that I never expected 
to see him again,” was the earnest affirmation. “Yes, 
he would not hesitate to kill you, because, in his 
heathen code, you forfeited your right to live. Let 

292 


HIS CODE OF HONOR 


us not leave this matter half-way. You did not pull 
even a pound because your soul had turned yellow and 
sick with fear. Acknowledge it as truth or, by God, 
I shall not stop the hand of Li Hwan.” 

Dollibare nodded assent against his will. He felt 
amazed at his own helplessness. The actors were so 
absorbed that they failed to observe the approach of 
two young men who halted at the doorway and stared 
at the tableau. It held them curiously intent for a 
moment. Then the shrewd, self-possessed Jerry Alte- 
mus observed with a smile: 

“ Pardon us, Sung, if we seem to intrude. Sedgwick 
and I have been raking the campus to find you. We 
blew in on a late train from New London, and it oc- 
curred to us that you needed cheering up a whole lot.” 

“Sure thing. Never say die, old top,” chimed in 
the other visitor. “Just by luck we drifted into this 
joint, and the clerk said you had chartered rooms. 
What’s the answer? It’s never too late to eat. Come 
along, and we’ll make you forget it over a few mugs 
of ale.” 

Bob Sedgwick looked questioningly at Dolibare, 
who seemed oblivious of their presence. Young Mr. 
Altemus studied the bruised cheek and let his glance 
rove to the bellicose figure of Li Hwan. The latter 
sidled past the table and slid the pistol into his sleeve 
with the skill of a juggler. 

“Can I help you in any way?” drawled Jerry. 
“I’m afraid we broke into something.” 

“Dollibare can tell you what it is,” said Sung Wu 
293 


SONS OF ELI 

Chen. “He has just confessed that he lost the race 
for us.” 

“The deuce he has I” cried Bob Sedgwick. “Then 
that lets you out. Wow, but that sounds good to me.” 

“It does not let me out,” gently protested the cox- 
swain. “How can it save my face? The newspapers 
will publish it all over America that I am guilty.” 

Jerry Altemus doffed his languid demeanor and was 
all fire and action in an instant. He, too, was the son 
of a great man, who ruled a railroad system instead 
of a province, and he also was a chip of the old block. 

“Write it out, quick, and make Dollibare sign his 
name to it,” he volleyed at Sung. “Brief and to the 
point. Til be getting the New York office of the Asso- 
ciated Press on the ’phone. They will know who I 
am. My dad owns a newspaper or two on the side 
and controls an A. P. franchise. This will save time. 
Hustle down to the local office, Bob, and tell ’em you 
can verify it if they shoot a query back from New 
York. We’ll get it into the city editions all over the 
country. It’s sensational stuff.” 

“And can it be sent by cable to China?” wistfully 
demanded the coxswain, who was rather stunned by 
this happy climax. 

“You bet. I’ll see to that,” returned the impetu- 
ous Jerry as he flew across the room to the telephone. 
Bob Sedgwick, about to dash for an elevator, paused 
to say: 

“You took this pretty seriously, Sung. By Jove, I 
believe you had made up your mind to leave college ! ” 
294 


HIS CODE OF HONOR 


“Yes. I had said good-by to Yale,” was the calm 
reply. “Now I have decided to stay. Thank you, 
my best of friends.” 

The luckless Dollibare, compelled like a puppet to 
do the bidding of others, was heard to remark: 

“This means that I leave college. Publish this in 
the papers and I am queered absolutely.” 

“There are other colleges, where they have no 
eight-oared crews,” blandly suggested Jerry Altemus. 

Li Hwan begged for enlightenment, receiving which 
his rugged features were illumined with wonderful, 
affectionate gladness, and he grunted as he moved 
toward the door: 

“A business for madmen is this boat-rowing, but 
no matter. It is well that I came from Shansi to pro- 
tect my heaven-born master, for his honor is saved 
and he has not lost face. Lah , lah , lah — lah , lah , lah. 
YALE . ” 


295 









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